


Alchemical Reactions

by Teland



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: BDSM, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, First Time, Frottage, Genital Torture, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Polyamory, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Work In Progress, polyamory negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 13:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: In which no one at all is thinking very clearly, but that works out pretty well for everyone.





	1. It’s easy to miss these things, with Aramis.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic years ago -- not long after I started writing Musketeers fic in the first place. It's gone through about a million edits and rewrites since then, but it's been stalled for... a while. A long while. A LONG while. I'm honestly not sure when I'm going to go back to it, if ever, so -- here you go. 
> 
> Warning: It ends abruptly, with poor Athos not getting any play. That *still* wounds me, man.

It's shameful, but Porthos has to admit it: He hadn't known anything was wrong, at first. 

Yes, Aramis was touching everyone. Literally everyone.

Yeah, Aramis had dipped and kissed three different serving maids before Porthos had even ordered their first bottle. 

*Absolutely*, Aramis had stripped off his coat and unlaced his shirt and — 

The penny dropped when the man began tugging not-bloody-idly-enough at the laces of his *trousers*. 

In the middle of the *inn*. 

Before their wine had even *arrived*. 

So Porthos was up and out of his chair and grabbing Aramis — 

"Yes, yes, *please* —" 

"What —" 

"Hold me *tighter* —" 

Porthos does just that before he can think, holds him tight and steers them into the inn's darkest, shadowiest corner — 

"*Please* —" 

"Aramis —" 

And then Aramis groans, long and *low*, and nuzzles Porthos's *face*, which. 

That. 

Is. 

New. 

So. Porthos gets Aramis situated in the *inkiest* part of the inn, and covers his mouth, and waves away the maid once she drops off their bottle, and puts the bloody bottle out of *reach*, — because — 

Aramis licks Porthos's palm. 

Because that. "*Aramis*!" 

Aramis *jerks* like Porthos had squeezed his *prick*, which Porthos will admit to having thought about more than *once* — 

More than several dozen — 

No, no — 

He moves his hand — 

Aramis whimpers and tries to get it *back* — 

Porthos pushes him *back* — "How much have you had to drink *already*?" 

For a moment, Aramis only stares at him, glassy-eyed and flushed and — 

And. And Porthos is going to *focus*, and *not* on Aramis's spit-slick mouth. "C'mon, *tell* me —" 

Aramis *pants* —

*Licks* his lips — 

And snickers like a boy. And not a particularly mature one, either. 

"*Aramis* —" 

Aramis blinks, and — looks like himself, truly like himself, clear-eyed and sharp and just a little sad. 

"Brother? What —" 

"I — listen. Listen very closely, friend Porthos. This. Is not wine." 

"No? Have you gotten your hands on one of those pleasure-drugs you were telling me about —" 

Aramis laughs breathlessly — 

Groans — 

Reaches down to grip himself — not shamelessly — 

His eyes are *wounded* — 

"*Brother* —" 

"Porthos. *Porthos*, I *ache*. You must send to Treville, or Athos, or both. They must retrieve my notes and letters. My correspondence with Dr. Giuseppe — Giuseppe..." And the rest of that is a moan as Aramis begins to — 

To *work* himself through his trousers — 

Right bloody there in *front* of Porthos — 

In front of the whole *inn* — 

His eyes are rolling up — 

His flush is deeper than the sodding wine and his scent is — 

Is — 

And it takes more strength than Porthos wants to *think* about to grab his hands and *stop* him — 

"*Porthos* —" 

"Shh, shh, easy, we're getting a room —" 

"*HNH* —" 

And, just like that — 

"Oh — oh, *fuck*, Porthos —" 

— he can smell Aramis's spend. 

He had — 

Right in his trousers. 

Just for — 

Porthos licks his lips before he can bloody *stop* himself — 

And Aramis whines like an *animal* before twisting his arms out of Porthos's grip and *yanking* *Porthos's* hands down to his hot groin — 

"Aramis —" 

"I apologize, I am — I'm sorry, but this — I can't think, and I can, with your hands right here —" And Aramis *sobs*, once, too *loud* — 

"Fuck —" 

"I'm *sorry* —" 

"Shh, shh, 's all right, tell me about the doctor, the Italian doctor —" 

"He is an *alchemist*, Dr. Giuseppe Manconi of Ravenna and occasionally — occasionally Milan — the letters are coded, the addresses are *not* — please, please squeeze —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"No, no, I am *sorry*!" 

"Shh, quiet, brother, take it easy —" 

"I *cannot*," Aramis says, and sobs again, *laughs* again, and: "I was — I was only trying to make a better *analgesic* —" 

"A what now?" 

"A — a — something to ease our pain, for our wounds and scars, and the doctor... the... the doctor..." 

"Aramis? Aramis, are you —" 

And Aramis focuses on him, wide-eyed, *dark*-eyed. "Porthos. Do you wish to have your cock sucked tonight?" 

Porthos *coughs* — 

"Or —" 

"Aramis —" 

"You could fuck my throat. You could. You could do this thing very hard, friend Porthos —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

"I would spend when you did," Aramis says, and *presses* Porthos's hands to his groin, and it must be painful, must be at least a little *uncomfortable* with the spend already in there — 

And then Porthos *registers* what Aramis had *said* — "You — what?" 

Aramis pants. "I would spend — perhaps without touching my cock. If you were cruel enough not to let me. Would you like to be cruel?" And Aramis is panting and — 

So — 

So *flushed* — 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"Oh. Beautiful Porthos —" 

"What —" 

"You can be cruel to me, you can — whatever you wish. *Anything* you wish —" 

And Porthos yanks his hands away — 

"*No* —" 

"Aramis —" And Porthos growls and covers Aramis's mouth again, covers it and — pauses. 

But only for long enough to meet Aramis's eyes over the back of his own hand before he — 

Before he reaches down to open Aramis's trousers one-handed — 

You have to *know* how to get into a man's trousers quickly and easily, you have to — 

You never know when the wounds will be high up the thigh, or worse — 

You — 

And the scents are amazing (mouth-watering), and the breeches are bloody *slick*, and he leaves them closed, because they're getting a bloody *room* — 

But first Porthos is *riding* Aramis with the heel of his palm — 

Feeling him stiffen all over, all over his *body* — 

Ride him *back* — 

And he's *moaning* into Porthos's other palm, moaning like the only thing keeping him from shouting down this whole bloody common room *is* Porthos's hand — 

He *bucks* — 

He bucks *again* — 

And then the slick breeches get even slicker, even *wetter* — 

*Hotter* — 

Aramis's eyes are rolling back in his head like Porthos had just done something bloody *impressive* —

He's moaning *constantly* — 

And Porthos... 

"Shh, 's all right, 's fine, you're perfect —" 

Shit — 

"C'mon, now, come back to me..." 

Aramis moans more *softly* — 

More *sweetly* — 

Presses a soft *kiss* to Porthos's palm — 

Porthos's *painfully*-hard prick *jumps* in his own breeches — 

And Aramis reaches up with shaking hands to tug Porthos's hand down. "Thank you. Thank you, my friend," he says, and sounds so bloody *mournful*. "I can't ever apologize *enough* —" 

"Enough of *that*," Porthos says, and doesn't bring either of his hands to his mouth, doesn't sniff, doesn't lick — 

Doesn't grip himself and squeeze *punishingly* like he sodding *deserves* — 

Doesn't — 

"Porthos —" 

"*Enough*, I said," he says, and shakes his head to clear it. "You got mixed up with an alchemist. You were making medicine, pain medicine. You... messed up along the way?" 

"I must have! The instructions were so clear, and the experimental reports were even — even clearer — I need you so much, I want you to fuck me — oh, *God* —" 

"Shh, shh, we're going upstairs in just a minute, just tell me what papers the others need to bring other than the letters. And — your medical kit?" 

"Please! If you were to hurt me with your cock —" 

"*Focus*!" 

Aramis rears back and *grunts*, eyes clearing — 

Mind *obviously* clearing — 

"Oh, Porthos. Yes. Yes. Anything you wish." 

"Aramis —" 

"*My* kit, the one in my rooms, the one which can only be transported by cart. The notes are *in* the kit. The letters are in *three* hidden caches, but the relevant ones are in the cache in my armoire, which can be accessed by moving my. My..." Aramis shudders once, all over, and gives Porthos a *pleading* look. 

"Keep. *Going*."

"My extra riding boots. The ones which look much filthier than they are. The latch is. They will be able to. Feel. I need you." 

"You have me. Can you keep control if I leave you be just long enough to get us the room and have the message sent to Athos? It'll have to just be a 'come immediately' message, brother. We can't put all that in the head of some messenger boy." 

Aramis stares at him for a long moment — 

A longer one — 

He *shakes* — and smiles ruefully. 

"What is it, brother? Tell me." 

"I am. A greater and greater part of me is only imagining you and Athos here, with me..." And Aramis squeezes his eyes shut and shudders. "Please, Porthos. Please help me again." 

And this — 

This is too *bloody* close to Porthos's *fantasies* — 

He's never going to be able to — 

He shouldn't've in the *first* sodding place — 

He licks his lips. "Open your eyes, brother." 

Aramis pants and pants and — does it. "Yes, Porthos." 

"Close your trousers." 

He makes a soft *mewling* sound — 

Porthos *doesn't* let himself part his lips — "Don't make me wait." 

"Yes, Porthos," Aramis says, and laces his trousers with shaking hands. 

"Wait right here, for me," Porthos says, *looming* over Aramis. A part of him can only wonder what *he* smells like right now — "Sit down right there," he says, and points at their table. "Don't move. Don't talk to anyone. Don't make *eye* contact with anyone. Is that clear." 

Aramis pants and sits and looks down at the table, just like that. "Yes, Porthos." 

*Fuck* — "When you need to spend? Do it. Right in your breeches. Don't wait for me." 

Aramis whimpers — "Yes, Porthos." 

"I *will* be back just as soon as I can. And then? We'll be alone."

Aramis swallows with a *loud* click — 

Nods almost *desperately* — 

"Yes, Porthos. It will be as you say." 

And that — 

Porthos feels himself blushing *hard* under the skin — 

Blushing harder than he's sodding *sweating* — 

He — 

He really needs to ask Aramis some pointed sodding *questions* — 

But not while *he's* sweating — 

*Shaking* — 

Right, no. 

He grabs *both* their purses — slim as always, but not as pathetic as they could be — and tracks down the innkeeper. 

Getting a room is easy — especially since Porthos *wants* the thickest-walled one that *no* one wants this bloody hot summer — but both messenger boys are out. He pays the innkeeper a whole extra livre to take one of the overworked stableboys off-duty for a run to the garrison, and, from there, to wherever Athos is drinking tonight. Treville *will* know.

The whole exchange takes less than five minutes, but by the time he gets back to their table in the shadows — 

Aramis is curled in on himself against the wall and shaking like he's genuinely *ill*.

He looks so *small* — 

"Aramis..." 

He *jerks* — but keeps his head down as he tuns back toward Porthos. 

He's hard as *stone* in his trousers, but the wet spot says he's spent at least once since Porthos had left him. He... 

Porthos licks his lips. 

"You followed all my orders. Didn't you." 

"Yes, Porthos," Aramis says, and his voice is low and quiet and — sweet. Just a little shaky, but *sweet*, and — 

For a moment, Porthos wonders if he's really going to do — this. 

If he really *should*. 

If he really sodding *dares* — 

If he shouldn't just tell Aramis that he's gotten them privacy, real *privacy*, and — 

"Good boy," Porthos says, because it won't stay behind his lips anymore, and — "That was perfect." *Fuck* — 

Aramis moans. "I. Yes?" 

Fuck fuck — "Yeah. I. Yeah, brother. D'you — " Like following orders — "Let's get upstairs." 

Aramis moans again — 

Grips at his own knees — 

*Shakes* more — 

"Aramis?" 

And that entirely respectable prick twitches *violently* in his trousers. 

*Twice*. 

Just — "I apologize, Porthos. I — I don't —" 

"Shh. We already know I can help you with that, yeah?"

And Aramis doesn't say anything — 

At all — 

At *all* — 

"Aramis —" 

"Perhaps. Perhaps my friend. Would let me be of assistance... to him." And — 

*Intellectually*, Porthos knows that Aramis is looking down because Porthos *told* him to, but it's still — 

Those words with *that* pose — 

"Stand up, Aramis." 

Aramis *grunts* — and obeys — 

And keeps looking down — 

"I. I ask too much. I apologize. I — I cannot control my *mouth* —" 

"I don't need you to —" 

"You need *nothing* from me —" 

Porthos *coughs* a laugh. 

Aramis *freezes* — 

"Oh, no, no — fuck," Porthos says, grabbing Aramis by the shoulders and walking him back into the literal dark corner behind the table — 

"Porthos —" 

"Does it feel better to look down like that?" 

Aramis whimpers — 

Says *nothing* — 

"C'mon, tell me. *Tell* me." 

"Yes. Yes, *please* —" — 

"Then keep it down." 

"Yes —" 

"Keep it down while I tell you how bloody *hard* I am in *my* trousers — I *know* you can tell at least a little, even *with* mine a little looser than yours —" 

"Please let me make you —" 

"*Quiet*." 

Aramis *grunts* again and *bucks* against Porthos's thigh. 

"Oh... Aramis." 

Aramis sobs so *quietly* —

"No, shh, it's all right. I want that. I want you to ride my thigh while I think about riding *you* —" 

"Wh—what?" 

Porthos leans in closer, crushing Aramis into the corner and pressing his lips to his ear. "You think I never thought about it?" 

Aramis bucks *again* — "Porthos —" 

"You think I never thought about *touching* you?" 

"NNH — please —" 

"You think I never thought about *having* you?" 

"Nnh nnh — please, I will *scream*!" 

Porthos *pants* against Aramis's ear — "You want *my* hand on your mouth." 

"*Please*!" 

"Have it, then," Porthos says, and covers Aramis's mouth again — 

He moans *immediately* — 

Licks Porthos's palm and moans *again* — 

And then thrusts *cautiously*. So — 

"C'mon, brother. *Ride* me," Porthos says, and lets himself *lick* that ear — 

"MM!" And Aramis *jerks*, but doesn't... 

"You're allowed, Aramis. I *want* it. I want to smell your *fresh* spend again —" 

Aramis jerks and bucks and bucks and — 

"Yeah, do it, that's right, that's perfect —" 

Aramis groans and clutches Porthos's sides — 

"And *hold* me, yeah, just like that, hold me tight and I'll do you just the same when we're upstairs —" 

Aramis *locks* both thighs around Porthos's right one and — rides.

"Good *boy*..." 

"Mm! Mm. *Mm* —" 

"Yeah, I know you like that. I know you *need* it," Porthos says, and *shoves* his thigh up against Aramis's crotch — 

"MMPH —" 

"I need it, too. I almost want the stableboy to be *slow*, brother —" 

Aramis goes *rigid* — 

"I almost — no, no almosts. I want to make you spend and spend and *spend* —" 

Aramis screams into Porthos's *hand* — 

"Oh, good boy, good *boy* —" 

And the scents of his sweat and spend and just — his *musk* — 

The *feel* of him so tight and hard as he shudders and *ruts* against Porthos's thigh — 

Again and *again* — 

"*Fuck*, you're bloody *perfect*," Porthos *growls* into Aramis's ear — 

He can't — 

He kisses him there, mouths and licks — 

Fucks him with his tongue until the shuddering stops and Aramis *slumps* — 

And then. 

And then he just pants a little, pants *with* his brother — no. 

He pulls back and kisses his mouth just once, just hard, just *hard*, because they can't possibly do anything more than this until they have *something* like a real conversation — 

They can't — 

They *can't* — 

But Aramis is kissing him back just like he wants to more than anything, clutching him and moaning into Porthos's mouth and coaxing Porthos's tongue into his mouth — 

He tastes so *sweet* — 

And maybe it's all right if he pushes a hand into Aramis's hair for a moment, just — 

Aramis cries out and starts to *shake* again — 

Oh — *fuck* — 

Porthos yanks Aramis *back* by the hair. 

"*Porthos* —" 

"Shh. Shh. How close are you to needing to spend again?" 

"I — I — I can think!" 

"Right, let's get upstairs —"

"Porthos, I." But Aramis just stops, staring into Porthos's eyes and looking hurt, looking *pained* — but not in the perfectly rational, I-just-spent-four-times-in-the-past-twenty-minutes way. 

"Aramis? Tell me what's wrong." 

Aramis's jaw drops — and he groans. "You give such *orders*." 

Porthos *winces*. "I — I'll stop —" 

"Please do *not*! It — it helps me think!" 

And they're *both* flushed — and blushing, too, Porthos would wager — and. 

Porthos isn't asking. 

He isn't asking — 

He isn't — 

"But do you like it." *Fuck* — 

Aramis *gulps* in a breath and looks *panicked*, and that — 

Shit — "Aramis —"

"I like it very much, Porthos," Aramis says, and doesn't look *any* less *panicked*, any less *scared* — 

"You're so *fucking* *brave* —"

"No —" 

"Shh, c'mon, upstairs," Porthos says, and kisses Aramis hard and sharp and *brief* — 

"*Mm* —" 

And then he pulls back again, *forces* himself to pull back. "Follow me nice and close. Look at the back of my head and nothing else. All you have to think about is me." 

Aramis gives him a *dazed* look for a long moment — "Yes, Porthos." 

Porthos closes his eyes and *growls* — 

"Porthos —" 

"Shh, let's go," he says, opening his eyes and turning for the stairs. And — 

There are myths like this. 

Lots of them, and Aramis is the one who'd taught him about some of them. 

But...

Nothing bad is going to happen in this dark little hallway — their room would have to be at the hottest, narrowest end of the hall in this decidedly *oddly*-designed building — if he turns back — 

If he grabs his brother — 

"Oh, Porthos —" 

If he holds him against the wall next to their door and looks at him, just looks at him — "You're so sodding gorgeous, and — no, no, tell me how to talk to you, brother," Porthos says, and unlocks their door with his other hand. "Tell me what you do and *don't* need to *hear*." 

Another dazed look — but this one is *hotter*. And that — 

"Do you need to spend again?" And Porthos leans in closer even as he pushes their door open. "Tell me." 

Aramis narrows his eyes and stares at Porthos's mouth for a long moment — and then he just lowers his head, period. It — 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"My friend. I need to pleasure you." 

Oh — shit — 

"I need. I need to know what you *like* so I can *do* it —" 

"Aramis —" 

"We have shared women, and that is well, but — do you like your men that way? You sometimes choose the very strong and *burly* women — is it so you can be rough with them? You choose those women when we are *not* sharing —" 

"You don't *like* them —" 

"I do, my friend. When I am. When I wish to be on my knees. When I am submitting myself —" 

"Oh. Fuck." 

"Do you like that? Do you want me to submit myself more fully to you? I ache to. I want to be on my *knees* to you —" 

"Aramis, you're — you're bloody *drugged* —" 

"My friend, did you think I did not want *you*? All this time, these months when I've seen your body, touched it when you came to *me* so I could rub you down and care for your *wounds* —" 

"You're — you're the best surgeon —" 

"And only that?" Aramis smiles. "I want to grip your cock in my hand until you order me to stop teasing and *sit* on it —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"I want to *lick* your cock all over, over and *over*, until you *slap* me for teasing and then fuck my throat *brutally* —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

"But. You do not want these things? I'm... asking too much?" And Aramis licks his lips and reaches up to cup Porthos's hand on his chest with shaking hands. "Perhaps. Perhaps you do not... want..." 

"Oh — shit —" 

"You. You are helping your good friend?" 

"No — *Aramis* —" 

"All know Porthos would do. Would do anything for a — *nnk* —" 

It can't possibly be — 

It's *not* right to be choking Aramis like this. To be — to be sodding *holding* him up against the wall with one hand wrapped round his throat while he works open his trousers with the other hand — 

And his *own* trousers — 

He lets the trousers fall past his *knees*, and *shoves* against Aramis — "Do you bloody *feel* me?" 

Aramis's *mouth* falls open on an airless *cry*, but — 

But Porthos *can't* let him speak, yet. He *grinds* against him — 

He — 

He watches Aramis's lashes flutter — 

Watches Aramis try to speak — 

Try to *gasp* — 

He can *feel* that — 

And he's still grinding against him — 

Right in the *hallway* — "Oh — fucking *hell*, Aramis, I —" And he growls and *yanks* Aramis into a hard kiss — 

He needs it so sodding *badly* — 

And Aramis takes it like a dream, sucks Porthos's tongue and plays with it, welcomes it, pants for air and gets *nothing* when Porthos starts to *fuck* him with it, in and *in*, in and *in* — 

He's getting so *dark* — 

He's the most beautiful *man* — 

And then his eyes roll up and he bucks and shudders and bucks again, over and *over* again, and the scents of spend and musk *rise* *again*, and God sodding *help* him, Porthos wants to keep going until *he* spends, but he has to let Aramis *breathe*. 

So he loosens his grip — 

And Aramis gasps — 

And gasps — 

"Please don't stop!" 

"Aramis —" 

"Please, please, even if it is only *once*, you must let me make you *spend*!" 

And Aramis isn't focusing, Aramis is barely *standing*, and — 

The only thing to do is to yank him into the room, close the door behind them, shove him back against the door, and open their breeches at speed, at *speed* —

"Oh, *Porthos* —" 

"Is that what you want to call me?" 

"I — *oh*," Aramis says, and Porthos gets his first look at Aramis's spend-slick prick twitching — *spasming* — out in the *air* — 

"Gorgeous *thing*," he says, and gets them both in hand — 

"You — *you* —" 

"Tell me how *sensitive* you are, Aramis," Porthos says, and *fucks* into his own fist — and groans, because he can feel every *second* he hasn't spent, every *moment* he's had Aramis literally sodding *desperate* for it — "Never *mind*. Never — you want to take it, don't you?" 

"*Yes*!" 

"Then *take* it," Porthos says, and crushes his arm between them, crushes their *pricks* between them and fucks up and up and *up* — 

"Porthos! Nnh — *NNH* —" 

"*Fuck* — tell me you sodding *like* —" 

"I love it! I love — your cock is so *big*!" 

Porthos *flushes* again, and they're staring into each other's eyes, *seeing* each other, *knowing* — "You want it." 

"Yes!" 

"You want it in — is your arse tight?" 

Aramis whimpers and *gasps* — 

"C'mon. Tell me. Are you tight for me?" 

"For — for —" And Aramis slams his head against the door and whines, *ruts* against Porthos's prick — 

"*Tell* me." 

"Please! You are *big*. I am — I believe I will be — tight —" 

Porthos *growls* — "Do you. Do you want to *hurt* for me?" 

"*Please*! Please, I —" 

And Porthos squeezes — 

And Aramis *screams* — 

And Porthos *shoves* into his own fist and *grunts* — 

And shoves again — 

Again — 

Aramis sobs and babbles something in bloody *Latin* — 

"What. What *was* that?" 

"Porthos —" 

"*Tell* me!" 

"I am a possession I am used I want to be *fucked*!" 

And the decision to dart in and bite Aramis's throat — — 

Aramis yells and bucks so hard he nearly makes Porthos lose his *grip* — 

It's not a *decision* — 

He tastes so *good* — 

Porthos *sucks* his mouthful — 

Aramis *sobs* — and spends *again* — 

And Porthos can't do anything but *grunt* against Aramis's throat, release their cocks and *pin* him to the door by the wrists — 

He's still *sobbing* — 

And Porthos *fucks* against that prick, that pretty, messy, *has*-to-be-*aching* prick, fucks against it until everything in him is that blind heat, that incredible blind sodding *heat* — 

Aramis's perfect body — 

He can't *stop* — 

"Porthos — oh, Porthos..." 

"*Aramis* —"

"Please. Please, let me smell *you* —"

Porthos shoves *hard* against Aramis's prick, growling and grunting and spending, just like that — 

Fuck — 

He feels like he's losing his *mind* with his spend — 

He's groaning and shoving and *fucking* against Aramis — 

Biting him everywhere he can *reach* — 

He feels — 

But kissing Aramis makes it better, hotter *and* warmer, especially since it's step one of getting them further into the room — 

Closer to actual *furniture* they can *rest* on as they remove their increasingly-*ruined* clothing — 

Belts and coat and tunics and shirts — 

Porthos feels what seems to be a chair behind him and lets himself fall into it, disheveled and spend-stained as he is — 

As he'd profoundly like to *always* be with this man — 

He looks *up* at Aramis — 

At the bloody gorgeous *mess* currently swaying on his feet and staring down at him like he's been doing bloody witchcraft or something — which. 

Wait. "*Alchemy*?" 

"What? Oh. I. I have dabbled, in the past —" 

"You *have*?" 

"Not seriously!" 

"But — casually?" 

Aramis shrugs ruefully. "Too casually, I think. I made mistakes. I believe I can trace them when I have my notes and Dr. Manconi's letters, once more, but I will need to be able to *think* for longer than a few minutes at a *time*." 

Porthos licks his lips and leans back in the chair. "Well. We seem to have found a way to increase your critical mentation, brother." 

Aramis opens his mouth — and closes it again. "Yes. Yes, Porthos," he says, in that sweet voice. 

"You know you're getting me hot again, don't you." 

Aramis looks at Porthos's prick. "Perhaps. Perhaps you never stopped being... hot?" 

Porthos grins. "That I didn't. But you need to follow orders to stay focused. Don't you."

"Yes, Porthos."


	2. I know you weren’t actually paying attention before, Porthos, but he did warn you.

God, this is — — no, no, he has to figure this out, has to make it *right*. "My orders? Or anyone's?" 

Aramis blushes so *sweetly* — "I..."

"That's gorgeous, too. Answer the question." 

Aramis moans — and stands straight. "Yes, Porthos. I. I have thought about other men's orders. But none so much as yours." 

That — Porthos narrows his eyes. "How long have you been thinking about my orders, brother." 

"Since. The day we met." 

Fucking *hell* — "How much of this honesty would I be getting if you were sober. Mm?" 

"All of it," Aramis says, hands fidgety at his sides, "if you were to treat me as you've treated me tonight." 

"The molestation? The orders? Or both? What does it take to get your honesty, brother?" 

Aramis clenches his hands into *fists* — 

Flushes *deeply* — 

"The orders, Porthos. They would have been enough... if you also ordered me to please you. Or if you took your pleasure from me —" 

"Like I did?" 

"Or. Please. Please." 

"Is it getting harder, brother?" 

"*Please*!" 

"On your knees," Porthos says, making it a growl. "On your knees and *strip* me the rest of the way down. Once you've serviced me, we can decide if and how you get to spend again." 

Aramis makes a fucking *beautiful* animal noise — and drops to his knees with perfect grace. 

"Good boy," Porthos says, just like he's not burning up from this inside out, just like the sight of Aramis's hands *losing* their shake as they touch him isn't — 

Isn't — 

"Faster, Aramis." 

"Yes, Porthos," Aramis says, sweet and hungry, so sweet and *hungry*, and there go his boots — set *carefully* to the side of the chair — 

And there go his trousers, *folded* carefully — 

Just — 

"Don't fold my breeches," Porthos says, and stares down at the top of Aramis's head — 

At his mussed hair — 

His beautiful fucking *hair* — 

"May I suck them, Porthos?" And Aramis keeps his head hung *low* — 

Porthos growls. "Right where they're wettest, brother?" 

"Please. *Please*... sir," Aramis says, and pauses, for a moment, with his fingers tucked into the waistband of the breeches before tugging them down and down and off. 

And then holding then up — 

In front of his *face* — 

And that — Porthos would be a *fool* not to hear the question there, the question and the *plea*. 

But. 

"Get those breeches in your mouth, brother. Right — yeah. Right where they're *stickiest*. There's a pet —" 

Aramis *bucks* — 

And that's the answer to one question, if not all. 

Porthos gets the distinct feeling that 'all' is something he'll never even be *close* to. 

Still — "You like that, don't you. Being my pet." 

Aramis shudders and sucks and sucks — 

Just a little drool escapes his mouth *and* the breeches to drip on the *floor* — 

And Aramis nods. 

"Good boy. I don't think pets use the word 'sir'. Now do they." 

Aramis shudders more and *slurps* — 

And *pants* — 

And tugs the breeches from his mouth. "Sometimes. Sometimes they do not use words, at all..." And — 

"You left a space there." 

"I —" 

"A space where *some* word could go... if I was all right with it?"

The back of Aramis's neck turns the color of a brick. "Yes, Porthos. Yes — please." 

And that — 

Porthos licks his lips and *grips* his own prick. "I've thought about having you on your knees to me, brother." 

Aramis pants — 

Brings the breeches back to his mouth — 

"No, that's done. Put them down." 

Aramis *moans* — and obeys. "Yes, Porthos." 

"Good boy. Good *pet*. Who *else* is your Master in your fantasies, pet?" 

Aramis grunts and *shakes* — "Please —" 

"Shh. Just answer. That's all you have to do right now." 

Aramis gasps — "Yes?" 

From this angle, Porthos can see Aramis raising his eyebrows. See that *quality* of eagerness — "You're my *fantasy*," he says, and it's only barely not a blurt. It only manages to miss being a blurt because it's a sodding *growl*. 

Aramis is gripping at his own *knees* — 

So eager *and* needy — 

And Porthos has a question to answer. Just — 

He knows how this sort of thing can *work*. He knows what kinds of things are *needed* — or can be. He squeezes his own prick hard — 

Growls *more* — 

"Please —" 

"I love the way you beg, pet.... no, no, close your pretty mouth. That's right, nice and tight..." 

Aramis groans in his *chest* — 

"And when I ask you a question — or give you an order — that's the only thing you have to think about. Sometimes I'll tell you *exactly* how I want to be answered, or how I want you to follow the order, and sometimes it'll be obvious, and sometimes I'll leave it up to you to show some initiative. But you need it hard today. Don't you." 

A shudder — and then Aramis nods. 

"Good pet. You need me to make things nice and clear for you. Don't you." 

Aramis nods almost frantically — 

"Open your mouth again." 

He obeys — and doesn't make a sound except that he starts panting through his mouth. 

"That's beautiful." 

A questioning noise. 

"Your questions — and how you choose to ask them — are making me harder, pet. But now you have to answer my question. Do you remember what it was?" 

Aramis pants — 

And pants — 

And whimpers so *softly* — 

"Shh. 's all right that you don't. We both know that concentration is hard for you. I'm not going to get mad at you for forgetting." 

"N-no?" 

"No, pet. Besides, pets aren't supposed to concentrate on too many things at once. Now are they." 

Aramis makes a *desperate* noise —

And lowers his head to the *floor*. He — 

"No, Master. No, they are not." 

Porthos's cock *spasms* — 

It — 

"Pet..." 

"Yes, Master." 

Porthos licks his lips. "D'you like it down there." 

"I believe it is where a pet belongs, Master. I have. I have... wanted." 

Porthos grunts and — growls. "Right, then. This brings us to the question we'd forgotten." 

"Yes, Master?" 

Porthos breathes — 

And breathes — 

And rests his foot on Aramis's back. 

*Aramis* grunts — 

"Do you like that." And that was barely even a *growl*, much less *speech* — 

Aramis shudders beneath him — "Very much, Master." 

Fuck, fuck — "Good boy. And you've fantasized about this? Things like this?"

A soft, wet sound — Aramis is licking his lips. "Yes, Master. I have. I have. There have been many fantasies. This was one of them." 

"This particularly?" 

"Yes, Master. Though... you had let me pleasure you with my mouth first." 

Porthos licks his own lips and gives up, stroking his own prick. "We'll get there —" 

Aramis *grunts* again — 

"You want that." 

"Yes. Yes, please, Master. Your cock is very beautiful." 

"And you wanted it right away." 

"Yes, Master." 

"Wanted *this* right away?" 

Aramis shivers — not shudders. 

There's a happy memory happening in there, Porthos would wager. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking." 

"I remember... our first meeting. You complimented my looks more than any man I had ever met before — including the men who were attempting to seduce me. You were... so cheerful. So shameless. So open." 

And that — "So were you, pet. I liked you right away." 

"I had to." And Aramis pants and swallows — and kisses the top of Porthos's other foot. 

Porthos growls. "You had to what, pet." 

"I had to be — entertaining. Attractive. I had to keep you *near*, Master. My fantasies that day were not elaborate, or even very specific in some ways, but. I..." 

"I was still your Master?" 

Aramis's moan sounds almost *hurt*. It — 

"Is it getting harder, pet? Harder to think?" 

"Please. Please make your orders more *firm*. I —" 

"Tell me if I've always been your *Master*." 

"Always!" 

"Tell me who *else* is your Master." 

"No one, Master! I — I have only one — please —" 

"Shh, all right," Porthos says, and puts on a little pressure with the foot on Aramis's back — 

"Oh — God, *yes*!" 

"You like that." 

"Yes, Master, yes —" 

"Shh," Porthos says, and pushes Aramis down a little harder. "Calm down." 

Aramis groans — 

"*Breathe*." 

Aramis *grunts* — and breathes. 

"There's a pet. Keep going." 

"Yes, Master —" 

"Shh. No talking, yet." 

Aramis takes a *short* breath — 

"Not even to apologize for talking." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

And nods — 

And kisses Porthos's other foot again before starting to breathe *almost* evenly. 

Porthos can see the strain of it, but he's managing, and that's the important thing. 

And Porthos can't *not* know that the weight of his foot is helping. 

That the fact that it *is* his foot — and not his hand — is helping. 

That — 

Fuck, he's so *hard* — 

And he can't wait any longer. "Tell me if that's a comfortable position for you, pet." 

"Yes, Master —" 

"Could you be *more* comfortable — and still be low enough to kiss my foot?" 

A *slight* pause — "Yes, Master —" 

"Then move. Get as comfortable as you can — you're going to be down there for a little while." 

Aramis moans and obeys *immediately*, obviously working to avoid moving the foot Porthos has on his *back* as much as possible. And then he stops, with his back just a little straighter and his lips pressed to Porthos's foot. 

"That's the position, pet?" 

"Yes, Master —" 

"Good boy. Tell me who else *controls* you in your fantasies."

"I —" 

"No. *Start* with the names." 

"Treville. Athos — sometimes." 

Well, then. "Anyone else?" 

"No, Master. Not since I became a Musketeer."

Porthos growls. "But before then." 

Aramis pants and moans — 

"*Answer*." 

"I — I — would dream! Of someone... I didn't know what I wanted! The Masters in my head, they were all different. And unsatisfying!" 

Oh — fuck. "Not just because they weren't *there*." 

"No — yes, I — I couldn't — I didn't *know* what I wanted. I went to courtesans, in part to try to — to *discern* —" 

"It didn't work." 

"No, Master. And then. And then I met you." And there's another wet sound — 

Aramis *pants* on Porthos's *foot* — 

And kisses it again, and again, and — 

"Pet. Did you tell me to call Athos and Treville tonight so that they could — we *all* could — *fuck* you."

Aramis makes a low and *needy* sound. "I. I think —" 

"You *think*?" 

"They are — they are also very familiar with me, and —" 

"They're not surgeons, pet. They're not *alchemists*." 

Aramis pants and pants and — kisses Porthos's foot over and over again. 

Porthos growls — 

Aramis kisses him *faster*, more *sweetly* — 

"Pet. Stop." 

Aramis whines — but obeys, pulling back and lowering his forehead to Porthos's foot. His hair is soft and ticklish, and he's shaking, and Porthos is — 

Too hard. 

Too hard to think as much as he *should* be thinking — 

As much as he *needs* to be thinking — no, no, he can *do* this. "*Aramis*." 

Aramis whines — 

*Fuck* — "Tell me who the *alchemists* are in Paris. Tell me who can *help* you." 

"Please, Master, please do not —" 

"*Quiet*." 

Aramis *grunts* and presses his forehead to Porthos's foot *firmly*. He's *panting*, and not in anything like a good *way*, and — 

Fucking *hell* — "I'll take care of you. I'll give you everything you *need* —" 

"Master — Master, I need you to *take* —" 

"I *promise* I'll do that, *too*. But you have to tell me who can actually —" 

At which point the door all but *crashes* open, and — 

"Right, we're here," Treville says. "Athos here has Aramis's *second*-biggest medical kit and what in God's name am I *looking* at? *Porthos*!"


	3. If you look closely, you still probably won’t see Treville putting up a fight.

*Shit* — "Sir —" 

"Porthos du *Vallon*, if this is your idea of a bloody *prank* —" 

"Fuck -- it *isn't*," Porthos says, and thinks very seriously about standing *up*, but — 

Aramis is holding his ankle with both hands. 

Aramis is — 

And it's *not* a tight grip. It would be *easier* to break if it were — 

Porthos shudders and just — stays right the hell where he is. 

Aramis needs him here.

"Aramis poisoned himself, sir —" 

"And this is how you're responding to that?" Treville's eyebrows are near his *hairline*, which is *impressive* — 

*Athos's* eyebrows are somewhere under his sodding *fringe*, but at least he'd closed the *door* — 

Porthos winces. "Look, I didn't notice anything wrong, at first — and apparently he didn't, either. He was mucking about with bloody alchemy, trying to make new pain medicine for all of us —" 

"Oh, for the love of — no, keep *going*, Porthos. I'm *not* going to assume that anything you say will make *this* make any kind of *sense*, but I *am* going to *hope*," Treville says, and — 

There's color in his cheeks. Actual — 

Right, no, *focusing*. "He was fine all the way here, sir, but by the time we got inside the inn, he was touching everyone when he greeted them —" 

"He always does that —" 

"And kissing all the maids —" 

"He always does *that* —" 

"And um. Propositioning me." 

Treville looks at him. 

*Athos* looks at him *curiously*. 

"No, he *doesn't* always do that. Though he told me that he's bloody wanted to —" 

"I'd um. Had that thought," Athos says quietly. 

"Well, why the hell didn't you *tell* —" 

"Porthos," Treville says, and he's using that extra-scary *quiet* voice, and — 

And Porthos can definitely pay attention. "Right, sir. He um. I thought he'd started drinking without me, of course, especially since he couldn't tell me what... um. Well, why he *was* like that. And then he started... er. He was..." 

"Spit it *out*, man!" 

"Sir! And — right, all right, there's no good way to say this, he — he started spending. Right — right there in the inn." 

Treville blinks — and looks at Aramis. 

Athos *doesn't* look — 

Porthos can't help but feel how naked *he* is, and how heavy his foot *must* be on Aramis's *back* — 

Aramis is still holding his other ankle. 

The message — the plea — is just as clear as it can be. 

Porthos takes a deep breath and just — keeps staying right where he is. 

After a moment, Treville licks his teeth and raises *one* eyebrow. "I assume you're going to tell me that you *weren't* having *sex* in the inn." 

"No, sir. I — he spent when I told him that I'd get us a private room. He spent again just — just for a *touch*. He spent *again* *while* I was getting the room and sending the message. And — he *needed* to spend again when I got back to our table. That's — I was definitely a lot more active about helping every time. I told myself that it was to get more information, that he was a lot better at *thinking* —" 

"You had other reasons," Treville says, and *looks* at him. 

"Yes, sir. And those reasons... they. They just got more... uh. They got *more* when he told me that my *orders* made it easier for him to think. My — control." 

Athos makes a small sound — 

Treville looks at *him* — 

And then Athos clears his throat and stands at attention, looking at exactly *nothing*. 

Which — Porthos can't blame him, considering the look Treville gives *him*. "Sir, I —" 

"Porthos. It didn't occur to you that that might be something Aramis would say *because* he was drugged?" 

Aramis *grips* Porthos's ankle — and the scent of his sweat is high and sharp and — 

And Treville is *looking* at Aramis. At the hands around Porthos's ankle — "Aramis." 

"Please. Do not make me speak, sir." 

Treville grunts — "And why is that, son." 

"I have no control over what comes out of my mouth. I. I. My M— Porthos welcomes my honesty —" 

"What were you going to call him, son." 

Aramis *whines* — "*Please*!" 

Treville inhales *sharply* — and colors more. "You know we need information from you, Aramis." 

"Please, please, sir, please, I'll tell you anything you wish, I'll *do* anything you wish, I've always needed to *serve*, but my Master is the only one who desires what I have become!" 

Porthos flushes and — can't do anything about the needy twitch of his prick but live through it. "Sir. Sir — I. Imagine not being able to keep back all of your innermost thoughts and — and *feelings*. Please. Let me. Let me speak for him as much as is possible." 

Treville firms his mouth into a *hard* line, looking back and forth between them for a long moment before turning back to Porthos. "What else is there to know?" 

Porthos breathes in *relief*, and leans over to stroke Aramis's soft hair for a moment, to cup the back of his head. 

"Porthos —" 

"Yeah, I — he thinks he can piece together where he went wrong once he has both his notes and the letters from Dr. Giuseppe Manconi — the Italian alchemist he got the idea for, or the recipe for, the medicine from in the first place." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"In... this... state?" And Athos's eyes are wide. 

"Well, that's just it. We were. Uh. We were working on lengthening the stretches of time when he could think clearly. You know, between needing to spend." 

"Working on it by having you control him utterly, Porthos?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"And the fact that you've wanted just this for some heretofore unknown length of time has nothing to do with your own actions tonight?" 

"Sir... I'd never bloody say that," Porthos says, and laughs ruefully. "I want him so badly it *hurts*, and I just — I tried to make this just about him, about what *he* needed, but — I couldn't. I mean, even if he would've *let* me — sodding hell, sir, you've been calling us each other's better halves for months now, and I'm not exactly hiding anything at the moment about how much I'm enjoying having Aramis on his knees in front of me, now am I?" 

For a moment, Treville only *looks* at him, burning and hard and — promising.

Promising in ways Porthos hadn't ever thought — "Sir?" 

Athos gives them *all* a *studying* look — 

And then Treville rolls his eyes just a *little* theatrically and pulls out the other chair so he can sit with a good view of *both* Porthos and Aramis. "Where does Athos need to look for those papers?" 

Athos turns that studying look on Treville's *back*, just like he'd seen that promising look and had the same thoughts about it *Porthos* had — 

"Don't start, Athos," Treville says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You may have been observant enough to notice what our two lovebirds *didn't* about each other, but *I've* been observant enough to notice what *you* haven't about Aramis." 

"That he's attracted to you, sir?" 

Shit —

Treville snorts, not bothering to move his hand. "That I'm an old enough man to *deal* with that, Athos... whereas you're just young enough and blind enough not to have noticed that Aramis asked for *both* of us tonight for a *reason*." 

Athos *blinks* — and blushes right up under his fringe and right down under his kerchief. 

"There's also what I've noticed about how *you* respond to Aramis —" 

"*Sir* — I —" 

"But," Treville says, dropping his hand to his lap and crossing his legs, "since that's how most everyone on this continent with a *pulse* responds to him, I was never particularly moved to comment. Now, if you think I *should* —" 

"Porthos! I — where. Should I look. For those documents?" 

Porthos coughs into his fist. "Just in his rooms, mate. The letters to and from Manconi are coded, but the addresses — Ravenna and Milan — aren't. You'll find them in the 'kit' that can't be moved without a cart, and he wants that, too —" 

Treville makes a cutting gesture. "No. He's not doing any alchemical experiments, yet." 

Porthos blinks — "Sir —" 

"He's shaking at your feet, Porthos. Had you even gotten him to *admit* that he'd asked you to call us for a ménage à *quatre*?" 

"I... well —" 

"No, you hadn't. He's not ready to be mucking about with potions and other dangerous shite. *More* dangerous shite. In about seven hours, we're going to send a messenger with a very polite request for help from Lady Marie-Yvette Robard, who doesn't owe me *nearly* enough favours for this, but who does owe me *some*. I convinced Henri not to have her hanged as a witch for *her* alchemy —" 

"And that's not worth a few good turns?" 

Treville shows his teeth. "You're assuming I haven't *used* a few *already*, Porthos. Now, then. Where are the *notes*?" 

"Yes, sir," he says, and turns to Athos. "His armoire, under the extra riding boots. He says the latch to the hidden cache won't be too hard to find." 

Treville folds his hands on his trim little belly. "And, without that monstrosity of a 'medical kit', you should be back within the hour." 

"Sir," Athos says, inclining his head to Treville, and then to him and Aramis. 

Aramis doesn't move a muscle, even when the door opens and closes again with Athos's departure. 

And then — 

And then they're just there, the three of them, and Porthos has a good, solid two minutes to really put some *thought* into how naked and *hard* he is — 

And how Aramis's trousers and breeches are still halfway down his thighs, and that's somehow even *worse* — 

Better for his *prick*, mind, but — 

"Porthos," Treville says, *finally* — 

"Yes, sir," Porthos says, looking *up* — 

Treville gives him a wry smile. "Don't you think you ought to reassure him?" 

Porthos *blinks* — 

And Treville nods to Aramis's hands, which are still cupping his ankle and very much *not* squeezing it — 

Even though they *all* know he wants to do just that. 

Even though — 

Porthos licks his lips and shudders and — "Fuck, sir, I appreciate this." 

Treville grunts a laugh. "I've always maintained — and been maintained *by* — the belief that I have no right to paddle in the private business of my men... when that business does nothing to interfere with *Musketeer* business." 

And that sounds a lot like — no, not yet. 

Not yet. 

Now's for pressing *down* with the foot on Aramis's back — 

Aramis makes a soft sound — 

"That's it, pet. Let it out." 

"I — yes?" 

"Yeah. You don't have anything to think about but pleasing me. Answering *my* questions." 

"They. The questions... will go through you?" And Aramis kisses Porthos's foot — 

Porthos can see Treville shift in his chair just a little — "That's just right, pet. Maybe when you feel a little... a little more in control... well, we don't have to worry about that. You're *my* pet, and you follow *my* orders —" 

"Oh, Master —" 

Porthos presses down harder — 

"*Thank* you, Master —" 

"Good boy, good pet. Let it all out." 

"I ache to pleasure you, Master!" 

*Shit* — "We can't do that right this minute, but I can't bloody wait until we can." 

"Yes — yes, Master?" 

"Yeah. I've spent a lot of time tossing myself off to fantasies of your mouth wrapped round my cock." 

Aramis *groans* — 

"I'll tell you about 'em one day soon." 

"Please, Master!" 

"And you'll tell *me* about *your* fantasies — not that you haven't been doing that very well already." 

"Yes — I promise — *yes*, Master —" And Aramis kisses Porthos's foot five times in a row — 

"Fuck, that's — you're so sweet, so fucking —" Porthos growls. "Are you ready for me to move my feet, pet? Master wants to pet you." 

Aramis *pants* — "My Master may do what he wishes, at *any* time —" 

"Shh, answer the question." 

Aramis grunts — "Yes, Master. I would. I would like to keep my head down." 

"It helps you think, doesn't it." 

"Yes, Master. If I see too much... I need too much." 

*Treville* grunts — and pulls a handkerchief out of his tunic before raising an eyebrow. 

Porthos *blinks*. "I — just a moment, pet. Yeah, sir? You don't mind us using your handkerchief that way?" 

"The idea is, I believe, to help Aramis remain... focused?" 

Aramis's hands shake on Porthos's ankle — 

Porthos presses down with his other foot — and he knows what Aramis needs to hear. "Sir... Aramis is sweaty, hungry — just sodding desperate for it. He's *going* to get harder for the scent of you on that cloth." 

Treville raises an eyebrow at him — and then nods in understanding. "This particular old man has never, ever minded being considered attractive by the staggeringly beautiful," Treville says, low and gruff and *amused* — 

Aramis makes an animal noise — 

Treville reaches over with the handkerchief — 

And Porthos takes it. "Are you ready for your blindfold, pet?" 

Aramis pants — 

And pants — 

His hands are still shaking — 

So Porthos turns back to Treville — 

And Treville nods. "Aramis. I would have to have been in the grave for multiple weeks to not find the sight of you *mostly* naked and on your hands and knees — practically on your *face* and knees — *eminently* affecting. By which I mean there is no hardship to *any* of this for me, save in the sense that I'm deeply worried for your *health*." 

And *then* Aramis grips Porthos's ankle — 

Squeezes it *tight* for a moment — 

"M-Master." 

"I'm listening, pet," Porthos says, and tears his attention *away* from the wry little smile on Treville's face — 

The two spots of *high* color on his cheeks — 

"Tell me what you need." 

"Our Treville, he would say many things to make his men as — as functional as they *could* be —" 

"I'm going to choose *not* to be offended by that," Treville says, smiling more broadly *at* Aramis — 

"Well, good, sir, it being the truth and all," Porthos says — 

Treville *snorts* — 

And Porthos turns back to Aramis. "My pet needs a little reassurance, yeah?" 

"Your — oh. *Please*," Aramis says, and drops his forehead to Porthos's foot again. 

"*Mine*, yeah. And Treville's being just as honest as he can be, pet. And —" Oh. Fuck. "And uh. He just uncrossed his *legs*, and I think it's a fair bet to say he's happy to see you." 

Aramis moans — 

Moans low and hungry and *sweet* — 

"Please. Please blindfold me, Master," he says, and kneels *up* — slowly enough to let Porthos shift his feet comfortably — with his eyes closed, settling his folded hands in his lap.

"Good pet. Here it comes," Porthos says, and ties it on — 

And watches Aramis's nostrils flare — 

And flare — 

Fuck. "You like that scent, pet?" 

Aramis gasps a little — but doesn't pause before saying, "Yes, Master. I would like more of it." 

Porthos looks to Treville again — 

And Treville gives him a look that's just as dry as *bone* before he leans forward, letting his hands dangle between his knees. 

Aramis licks his lips — 

"Ask him about his control, Porthos." 

"Yes, sir," Porthos says, and pulls Aramis's head down to his knee.

"Oh — like this, Master?" 

"Not quite," Porthos says, and arranges things so that Aramis has his right ear pressed to the inside of Porthos's knee, so that his hearing is a little interrupted, too. "How's this, pet?" 

Aramis shivers — and beams. "Wonderful. Thank you, Master." 

"You're welcome. Now tell me about your control." 

"Yes, Master. I am very hard, and I am hungry for. For both of you," Aramis says, and pauses, and blushes *deeply* — 

"Is that so, pet?" 

"Yes, Master. I. I. Is that. Is that all right?" 

Porthos can't imagine looking away from Aramis for even a *heartbeat* — 

He has to *touch* — 

To straighten that mussed beard and moustache — "'s perfect, pet. You've got his scent, don't you?" 

"Yes — yes, Master —" 

"He's got your nose open," Porthos says — 

He can see Treville shifting slightly in his peripheral vision — 

"Yes, Master. I have. I have craved the chance to be this *close* to something which smelled this strongly of him." 

"When you've been just-this-close to naked and also *hard*, pet?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"When you've been tossing yourself off?" 

"Yes —" 

Treville clears his throat — and Porthos remembers what he's *supposed* to be doing. 

Mostly. 

Sort of. 

He licks his lips — and strokes Aramis's lower lip with his thumb. "Do you feel like you can think about things that don't have anything to do with — heh. *Our* cocks?" 

Aramis grins — and kisses Porthos's thumb. "Yes, Master. I can absolutely spend a great deal of time thinking in *depth* about *Athos's* cock." 

Porthos coughs — 

And Treville snorts *hard*. "Son, I — no. I'm not to address you directly, and I *will* remember that." 

Aramis parts his lips and takes a *deep* breath. "I am very grateful, sir. It is difficult not to... be very honest." 

"I can see that. *Porthos*." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Ask Aramis how he *ingested*... whatever the hell it was he ingested." 

"Sir." And Porthos turns back to Aramis. "Did you drink whatever it was down, pet? Was it some kind of potion? A powder you stirred into your wine?" 

Aramis nuzzles his cheek against Porthos's knee — 

"Oh, *that's* sweet. Do that whenever you *want*." 

Aramis beams again. "Thank you, Master. The substance I was left with when I was done with the process was a soft, grey-tinged powder — this truly should've halted me in my tracks, as Dr. Manconi described a gritty, grey-blue-tinged powder. Still, it was very late, and I had already softened the neutral poultice the doctor recommended for use as a medium for the powder, and so I stirred it in. 

"This morning, when the scrapes along my back and side I took from Cosette's fall on those rocks began to ache —" 

"You rubbed the poultice *directly* into the scrapes, pet?" 

"Yes, Master. And immediately felt better — much better, even, than Dr. Manconi suggested I would," Aramis says, and laughs ruefully, lips curling up. "This is, you know, a rule *and* a joke *and* a law among chemists and surgeons and alchemists and poisoners. And probably hedge-witches, too, though I have not known so many of those." 

Treville raises both of his eyebrows at *him* — 

Porthos has no bloody idea. "What is, pet?" And Porthos strokes the corner of that smile. 

"This: if the medicine works significantly better than you expected that it would, immediately begin searching for the emetic, because you have been *thoroughly* poisoned." 

Treville snorts again. 

"Well, that's bloody cheery. How do you feel *now*?" 

"Much more like *myself*, Master. Though..." And Aramis gestures to his hard — and *leaking* — prick. "I must confess that much of the control I have in this moment is borrowed as much from my years of romancing as many people as possible as *thoroughly* as possible as it is from you having made me spend over and over and *over* again." 

Porthos inhales sharply. "Still?" 

"Yes, Master. I — I wish to apologize again —" 

"You made a mistake you *won't* make again, and the only way I can regret it is if it leads to you being too *ashamed* to *keep* making love with me after you're well again." 

"Oh... oh." Aramis lowers his head. "Master, I will *never* refuse you." 

Porthos pushes a hand into Aramis's soft, thick hair. "Not ever...?" 

"Never!" 

Porthos growls — 

"Ask him — ask him about how much pain he's in," Treville says, low and *rough*, and *really*, he *is* doing a good job covering that with gruffness, but not good *enough* — 

"Sir... were you about to say something else?" Maybe something designed to get him to talk more about how much he wants *all* of us?

For a long moment, they only stare at each other. Just — 

Stare. 

And *stare* —

And then Treville looks down — no. 

Then his *gaze* moves down Porthos's arm to his wrist to the hand he has in Aramis's hair. It. 

Porthos tightens his grip slowly and *relentlessly* — 

*Treville* growls — 

Aramis *gasps* — 

"How much *pain* are you in, Aramis?" 

"My cock *aches*, sir —" 

Treville *grunts* — 

"I want to be slapped there, spanked —" 

"You want to hurt *more*?" 

"Please! I love this pain, I love *many* pains, and my commanding officer, he knows how —" 

"*Stop* — fuck. I'm not. I'm not *addressing* you *directly*," Treville says, throwing himself back in his chair — 

Covering his face — 

And... yeah. The thing about faits accomplis is that they can very easily stop *being* those if you point out that they *are* too soon. 

So. 

Porthos isn't going to do that. 

He's just going to turn to his pet — 

His panting, eager, *needy* — "You're so sodding gorgeous, pet..." 

"I am happy to please you, Master!" 

"Tell me where else you hurt, mm? Where else you're *aching*." And Porthos *grips* him by the hair with one hand and drags his mouth open with the other — 

Treville makes a *quiet* sound — 

Porthos doesn't *look* — 

And Aramis kisses Porthos's finger. "Yes, Master. I ache inside. I long to be fucked —" 

"Hard, pet?" 

"Yes, Master. I want to be put in my place —" 

"And kept there?" 

Aramis *bucks*, right there on his knees — 

"That's beautiful, pet..." 

"Thank you, Master! I want to be kept! I want to be *your* pet —" 

"Should I collar you? Mm?" 

And that was an animal *noise* — 

Aramis *pants* — "Please!" 

"D'you want a choke-chain, pet? Something that can be pulled tight when you misbehave?" 

"I —" 

"Or when Master just feels like it?" 

Aramis cries *out* — "Master! Please, please, I —" 

"Shh. 's too much. Isn't it." 

"I apologize! I want your hands on me, Master. I ache without *them*. I want to be *fucked*. I want you to *hurt* me with your cock, and. And." Aramis moans then, and shakes his head as much as Porthos will let him. 

"Finish, pet. Go on." 

"I do not know — I think. I might... misbehave," he says, and tries to *hang* his head — 

"If you don't get what you need?" 

"Please — please, Master —" 

"But you're going to spend anyway, aren't you, pet," Porthos says, and grips Aramis's hair even tighter. 

Aramis makes a *guttural* noise — "I — I —" 

"You're going to spend for me and our Treville, aren't you. No matter *what* we do." 

Treville inhales *sharply* — 

"*Yes*, Master! I — please — please *something*," Aramis says, and it looks like he's *seeking* from behind the blindfold. 

Porthos would wager that his eyes are still *closed* behind it, but... "Are you looking for me, pet?" 

Aramis pants — "I want — I miss — I *want* you, Master!" 

"You want to see me again?" 

"Y— *no*!" 

"'s too hard, right?" 

"Yes, Master, please Master, I can't —" 

"Shh, 's all right. You can feel me," Porthos says, and brings his other hand back to Aramis's mouth, pushing *deep* with two fingers for just a moment — 

Aramis's prick spatters Porthos's legs with slick — 

"Oh, *good* pet..." 

"Mm — *mm* —" 

"Suck." 

Aramis obeys immediately, sucking and licking and — fuck, *slurping*, and — 

And. 

Right now. 

"Sir." 

"Porthos... don't do what you're about to do." 

Porthos starts *fucking* Aramis's mouth with his fingers — 

Slow and *hard* — 

Aramis *groans* — 

"Porthos —" 

"You see that spit sliding down his chin, sir?" 

Treville inhales *sharply* — and *then* looks at Porthos, looks at him *hard*. "The fact that I'm losing control —" 

"He's gaining it, sir. Every time. See, I'm not *just* winding him up because I'm hard as stone and desperate to see the most gorgeous man on the bloody *planet* *lose* it. This —" Porthos shakes his head and presses down on Aramis's tongue. "He's *Aramis*. It's *me* and Aramis. We can spend literal *hours* talking about fucking and then just go back to our separate rooms and toss ourselves off — assuming we don't have the dosh to share a woman or two. If he can *take* me talking dirty for a while without losing it? Then we'll know he's *enough* back to himself to play with whatever terrifying shit he was playing with that got him into this mess in the first place." 

Treville — shudders. Once. "And he's getting better at keeping his control." 

"Yes, sir. But he needs our help. And he bloody well *doesn't* need our *charity*." 

Silence — 

*Silence* — 

And then Treville growls. "Explain to me why I'm not taking up guard duty outside this *door*." 

Because you need it explained. Because — "You don't want to. And *we* don't want you to." 

Treville opens his mouth — and closes it. "*Aramis* doesn't want me to —" 

"You think he's the only one over here trying to get *deep* breaths of that handkerchief, sir?" 

And Treville makes a *low* sound, hungry and *predatory* — 

"Yeah, sir. I said it. And —" 

"Take your fingers out of his mouth, son."

Oh —

Porthos feels himself flushing all *over*, just for *that* — 

And he damned well obeys. 

Treville strokes his own moustache — 

Scrubs *roughly* down over his mouth and beard — 

"I want..."

"Yes, sir?" 

"I want to see *exactly* how much of your *truly* impressive cock our Aramis can take, son. And I want to see that... immediately."


	4. Good thing we're thinking this through!

"Oh — shit. Yes, *sir*," Porthos says, gripping the base of his cock with his free hand — 

Aramis is moaning loud and *hungry* — 

And he doesn't resist — or even try to *guide* — when Porthos pulls him *right* down onto his prick by the hair. Just — 

Down — 

Down — 

"Slower than that, son," Treville says, in that deceptively *quiet* voice that always makes Porthos's spine go *rigid* — 

"*Fuck* — yes, sir," he says, and pauses with his cock halfway in — 

With Aramis moaning and moaning *around* him — 

Mouth stretched *wide* — 

Still *blindfolded* — 

Porthos has never *had* — 

"Aramis," Treville says. 

Just that, and — 

"Mm? Mm-hm?" 

"Do you like the way that feels, son?" 

"Mm!"

"Do you want more of him?" 

"Mm-hm, mm-hm —" 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"Shh," Treville says, and strokes down to his own crotch — 

Squeezes himself so — 

"Pet — pet, Treville just squeezed himself so hard I felt it in my *own* bollocks." 

Aramis *moans* again, and that feels so bloody *perfect* — 

Porthos holds Aramis steady by the hair, tugging a little so he can arch the way he needs to without pushing any *deeper* — 

And Treville is laughing at both of them. 

"That's — that's right unkind of you, sir," Porthos says, and does his level best not to fuck — 

Not to just — 

Just *fuck* — 

"I'm not well-known for my *kindness*, son." 

"Is that so, sir?" And Porthos *forces* himself to stop arching and breathe — 

No, he's panting like a sodding bellows — 

Aramis is still moaning — 

And *drooling* — 

"It is so," Treville says, and shows his *teeth*. 

"Fuck — I. What *are* you known for, sir?" 

Treville doesn't say anything, at first. Just — stares at the backs of his own hands, like maybe he's examining his million and a half scars — 

Or his nails — 

Or — 

"Sir —" 

"Some — some, only — know me for my gift for wringing confessions out of the strongest men without resorting to... torture," Treville says, and then makes a bloody *face*, just like — 

"You're torturing me now!" 

"Hmm. Aramis. Son." 

"Mmmm?" 

"Oh *fuck* —" 

"Am I torturing *you* now, son?" 

Aramis shakes his head bloody *blissfully*, which — he's got a face stuffed full of prick. *He's* fine. 

Still — 

Even with Treville giving him a sodding *look* with his sodding *eyebrows* up — 

*Especially* with him doing that — 

"*Sir*." 

"Yes, son?" 

"I would like to sodding point out —" 

"Have I ever had a conversation with you about insubordination, son?" 

"Yeah, two or three times. Didn't take." 

"Right, carry on." 

"*Thank* you. As I was *saying* — *I* don't have a prick in my mouth," Porthos says, as belligerently as he can.

Treville stares at him wonderingly for a moment. 

A *long* moment. 

"Sodding *what*?" 

Treville gives him that *amused* look — and rubs at his moustache again. "Forgive me, son, but it's really extremely rare that I hear those words uttered in the same tone one would use to, say, threaten a man's life." 

"Oh. Well. I could recommend some good brothels —" 

"Son. Do you *want* to suck me?" 

And that just — Porthos shivers, once, all over. And licks his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, sir." 

Treville narrows his eyes. "Let Aramis swallow you." 

Porthos gasps — "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Porthos says, and watches Treville's lips part just a *little* — and then turns back to Aramis and pulls him down, all the way down, nice and slow — 

Just the way Treville — 

He pauses again. 

He considers — 

"Porthos." 

"I — sir. I have a question." 

"Yes, son?" 

"About — about *that*, actually," Porthos says, and turns back to Treville with the head of his prick just *nudging* at the back of Aramis's throat — 

Aramis isn't even *trying* to swallow — wait. 

He turns *back* to Aramis and rubs at his spit-slick chin with his thumb. "You're sodding perfect, pet." 

Aramis moans for him, for them — 

Porthos shudders and spasms *right* in that mouth — 

Aramis sucks *hard* — 

Porthos grunts and *yanks* on Aramis's hair — 

"*Mm*?" 

"Don't — not yet, pet," Porthos *pants* — 

"Mm, mm-hm..."

And *this* time when he looks to Treville, the mean-bastard-with-a-heart-of-flint look is off his face, replaced with something a lot sodding *hungrier*. And that... 

"I uh. I don't think that I actually *have* to ask you about ‘son’. Do I."

Treville flushes *hard* — and lifts his chin. "Porthos. This... this isn't something we have to do. We —" 

"We can pretend that you don't really *mean* it when you call us your sons, yeah —" 

Treville makes a pained noise and flushes even *darker* — and actually squeezes his *eyes* shut. 

"— and it occurs to me that um. You might find it problematic to do *this* while thinking about — that. Uh. Sorry?" 

Treville opens his eyes again. And looks at him *incredulously*. Which — 

"*Look*, sir, you're calling me 'son' while ordering me to make my brand new *lover* — who you're also calling 'son'! — swallow my prick! I'm allowed to be a bit slow on the uptake!" 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"I sodding well am!" 

Treville licks his lips, and *stands* — 

"*Sir* —" 

But. He's coming closer. 

He's standing *over* Porthos. He — 

"Don't you think you should be closer to the edge of that chair, son?" 

"Oh... fuck, fuck —" Porthos growls and bends over and *lifts* Aramis — 

"*MM* —" 

— moving them *both* until Porthos's arse is at the edge of the seat — 

And he can get Aramis's perfect mouth *right* back where he needs it — 

"Mm-hm, mm-hm, mmngh —" 

And that *really* is Treville's hand on the back of Aramis's head — 

Treville forcing Aramis down that last sodding *inch* — 

Treville *holding* him down — 

Porthos can't even *breathe* — 

"Do you like that, son? Hm?" 

And Porthos's mind — stutters. That's the only sodding *word* for it — 

"Do you like watching me hold your brother down on your beautiful cock?" 

Brother — but — he — and Aramis had always *been* his brother, but this is — 

"Do you like watching me *choke* your brother on your beautiful cock?" 

"*Please* — I —" 

Treville growls. "What are you begging for? Be specific, or I won't let your brother breathe." 

Aramis bucks — 

And bucks — 

And groans, deep in his *chest* — 

And Treville grins. "Then again, maybe I won't let him breathe no matter what you do, son. I suppose we'll just have to see." 

"I — d'you." Porthos swallows and looks back down at Treville's hand, so scarred and pale and *battered*, on the back of Aramis's head — 

"Do I *what*, son." 

Porthos *grunts* — 

"Mm. I see. It's different now, isn't it?" 

"I —" 

"Shh. Aramis. *Suck*."

Aramis obeys Treville without a *second's* pause, sucking so — 

So *fucking* perfectly — 

"Ah, fuck, fuck, I want to know *everything* about the pricks he's been sucking!" 

"You're not alone in that desire, son." 

Porthos grunts *again* — 

And Treville laughs at him. Just — 

"Fuck — *please* —" 

"It was all well and good to tease me about the way I used the word 'son' until we actually *touched* — or touched *through* the willing conduit of your brother," and Treville smiles *evilly*. "But it's just a bit harder to take now. Isn't it." 

And that — 

It's bloody hard to think while getting your prick sucked *badly*, and this is Aramis, who only ever fails at saying no to sex and thinking things *through*, so really, Porthos isn't thinking so much as *grinding* his prick in and in and — 

But. 

But he's also — 

"There's. There's one *bloody* thing you're *bloody* forgetting, *sir*." 

"Is that so," Treville says, and, if anything, he looks even *more* evil. 

Well, then. "You can drive me up a — up a sodding *tree* —" 

"That I can. Son." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Yes, son?" 

"Oh my —" Porthos gasps and snorts and *moans* and *shakes* himself like a fucking *dog*. And then he *looks* at Treville. "You can drive me up a sodding *tree*, *Daddy* —" 

"*Fuck* —" And Treville's eyes are wide, shocked, *needy* — 

"*Family* doesn't — doesn't just go one *way* —" 

"Porthos —" 

"Don't sodding *backtrack*!" 

And, for a moment, they're *snarling* at each other — 

And then Aramis *slumps* — 

"*Fuck*," Treville says, and *yanks* him back — 

Aramis gasps and gasps and whimpers and — 

Fuck, Aramis's prick is so dark and wet and hard and — 

"Daddy, please, I need —" But Treville's already shoving Aramis down, already — 

Porthos arches and groans and — 

"Son," Treville says, and — they're nose to nose. 

And. "Oh." 

"*Son*. Do you *want* —" 

"I want sodding everything, Daddy, *please* —" 

And then Treville's kissing him hard, so fucking *hard*, and a part of Porthos just wants to know if he kisses his women this way, if there *are* any women, if he ever wants to *share* — 

And then Porthos is *shouting* into Treville's mouth, because Aramis is moaning and bobbing his head on Porthos's prick — 

But when he reaches out, he feels Treville's hand still there, Treville still *gripping* Aramis — 

Working him — 

*Using* him to drive Porthos — 

But Aramis is trying to *speak* around Porthos's prick, moaning and slurring what sounds like desperate praise, desperate *joy* — 

Porthos bucks — 

Aramis chokes — 

And Treville shoves his tongue *deep* into Porthos's mouth *while* forcing Aramis's head back down, all the way — 

Porthos groans and — 

He can't — 

He twines his fingers with Treville's and holds Aramis's head still, *perfectly* still, and fucks him, just — 

Ah — 

Ah, *fuck*, he's fucking Aramis, his brother, his *brother*, and — 

And his *Daddy* is helping him do it. 

And *taking* his mouth — 

Just — 

*Fucking* it with his tongue, in and in and — 

Matching Porthos's own rhythm — 

Porthos groans and shakes and shakes his *head* — 

And then Treville — 

His Daddy — 

His Daddy growls right into his mouth — 

Grips *Porthos's* hair with his free hand — 

*Yanks* his head *all* the way back and breaks the kiss — 

"Please, Daddy!" 

"I want you to come down Aramis's *throat*, son." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah — fuck — *yeah* —" 

"Can you fuck him harder first?" 

"I — I don't want to hurt —" 

"Don't lie to me, son. Don't *ever* lie to me." 

"*Shit* —" 

"*Fuck* him. Nice and hard." 

"I —" 

"*Do* it!" 

Porthos shouts and *bucks* again — 

Aramis makes another *desperate* sound — 

And then he takes it, takes *all* of it, every fucking *slam* of Porthos's prick down his throat — 

It has to hurt so *much* — 

Porthos wants to *see* — 

"No, son. You *don't* get to watch." 

"*Fuck* —" And Porthos's prick spasms *violently* — 

Aramis coughs and gulps and *groans* — 

"Lies have to be *punished*," Daddy says. "Don't they." 

And there's a *part* of Porthos which knows that that was a *real* question, that Daddy is asking him if he really wants to go that *far*, but Porthos can't look away from the *heat* in Daddy's eyes — 

The needy-hungry *heat* — 

"Daddy. Daddy, *yes*," Porthos says, and gives up, sodding *reams* Aramis — 

Feels him tense up and almost *bounce* on his knees — 

And then there's hot, slick *spend* hitting his shins — 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

Daddy's eyes go wider and *hotter* for a moment —

*Wilder* — 

And then he snarls like an *animal* and grips Porthos's hair even tighter. "*Don't* stop fucking him, son." 

"Nuh — no —" 

"Fuck him *harder*." 

Aramis *spatters* him again — 

Porthos is already *obeying* — 

"You know, son... your brother's locked his hands behind his *back* —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Where do you think he's been going to get the kind of discipline he absolute craves?" 

"Nowhere — nowhere I'll *let* him go *again* —" 

"*Good* son. I trust you boys to... mm. Keep each other in line —" 

"Sodding *hell*, Daddy!" 

"— when I can't," he says, and laughs *hard*. "My beautiful sons. Do you want your Daddy's cock?" 

"*Please* —" 

"Do you want it in your *arse*?" 

Aramis lets out a *sharp* cry that Porthos chokes off — 

Again — 

*Again* — 

"Do you want your Daddy to bend you over this chair, son?"

"I — *Daddy* — I can't — I can't think —" 

"Do you want to be put. In. Your. *Place*." 

And there's a moment — a heartbeat — when Porthos is only staring and panting and — 

"*Answer*." 

— and then he opens his mouth to *beg* and winds up shouting in Daddy's *face* as Aramis starts swallowing *viciously* — 

As Porthos's prick spasms and jerks and *spurts*, finally — 

Oh, fuck, he can't — 

He can't hold back a *yell* — 

And another when Daddy kisses him so deep, so hungry — 

Another when Daddy bites his *lips* — 

Aramis is *groaning* again — 

Lapping at him as much as he's sucking, slurping as much as he's *swallowing*, and Porthos can't stop *spending* — 

Can't — 

Daddy is fucking his *mouth* again — 

Porthos clenches and spurts *again*, tries to *focus* enough to kiss Daddy back, suck his tongue, make himself look halfway sodding *competent* — 

But Daddy breaks the kiss and grins down at him *savagely* — 

Porthos spurts *again* — and collapses against the back of the chair.

And pants. 

And snorts. "*Fuck*, Daddy, every time you look like a bloody killer, I want you to slam me against a wall and *rail* me." 

Daddy gives him a *look*. "You might recall that I've been soldiering since about five years before you were *born*, son." 

Aramis moans loudly around Porthos's prick — 

Porthos feels absolutely justified in not having a mind for a bit — 

Or a little longer than that — 

And then Daddy chuckles and snaps his fingers in front of Porthos's face. 

"What? Oh, right. Your *soldier*-look's different from your *killer*-look, Daddy. And you know that perfectly well." 

Daddy *glitters* at him for a long moment. 

Porthos *looks* back. 

And Daddy laughs. "Well. I suppose I do, at that," he says, and then glitters down at Aramis for a long, silent moment.

"Feel like sharing some of those thoughts?" 

"Thinking strategically, son." 

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Oh, yes. I'm attempting to come up with a plan of action which will allow me to both roger the three of you absolutely bloody senseless *and* survive long enough to do at least some of the negotiation with Lady Robard once she stops cursing herself for ever getting in my debt in the first place — no, none of you will be able to do it." 

"I think — I mean, Athos —" 

"I don't plan to *leave* any of you *able* to do it." 

"Oh. I. Have I mentioned, recently, how much I enjoy being under your command, sir-and-also-Daddy?" 

Daddy shows his teeth again. "It's always warming to hear, son." 

"I —"

"Hm." 

"Yeah?"

"I'm afraid it's going to be up to you to tackle and restrain Athos before he can escape. Your brother's just not up to that sort of activity, and *I* taught Athos hand-to-hand combat when he was a boy." 

"Well, that would explain why he can *almost* beat me," Porthos says, and smirks. "Sometimes." 

"When you've a hand tied behind your back, son?" 

"And a skinful, yeah. Say, are we giving Athos a choice about this, at all?" 

Daddy looks pained. 

Very pained. 

Very — "I... suppose we should." 

Porthos nods judiciously. "We'll ask him once he's well and truly trussed-up." 

Aramis moans *luxuriantly* around Porthos's prick — 

It — 

It sodding lasts — 

Porthos's *eyes* roll up — 

And Daddy hums. "You don't actually have to *keep* him on your cock, son." 

Aramis makes a *plaintive* sound around Porthos's prick — 

Porthos hears *himself* make a sound like he's swallowing something that is itself trying to swallow something, and absolutely none of them are having any bloody luck with it — 

And Daddy's laughing at them both, again. "You're absolutely right. I don't know what I was thinking." 

"Too — too right —" 

"Except." 

"Except *what*?" 

Daddy gives him that killer-look again. 

That — that *means* things — 

Dirty, mean, *perverted* things — 

"I'm uh. You've got a sizable fraction of my attention, Daddy," Porthos says, sitting up a bit and pushing a hand into Aramis's hair. 

Aramis nudges back into the touch while managing to stay *right* on Porthos's prick — 

And, when Porthos looks up, Daddy is studying Aramis. Which... 

"Heh. You want to see what this feels like —" 

"Yes," Daddy says, without one *drop* of hesitation. 

Aramis blushes and moans — 

Porthos stiffens and *shudders* — and grins. "And if I'm not ready to give him up just yet?" 

Daddy smiles. "Then maybe you'll be ready to give me something... else," he says, and looks *pointedly* at Porthos's mouth. 

For — 

For a *while* — 

"Oh — yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Come —" 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No," Daddy says, and starts to strip — fast and soldier-efficient. 

Porthos swallows and watches and just — *watches*. It's not that he hadn't memorized the placement of *most* of the scars — when the other men asked him if he was staring at the Captain, he bloody well said *yes*, and told them he'd get back to them if they wanted to bloody make something of it — 

But. 

But — no, wait. 

He lifts Aramis off his prick — "Mm — mm — no — oh. Master, have I behaved poorly?" 

Fuck, he looks bloody *dazed* — 

And his breath smells like *his* spend — 

And — wait. "You did follow Daddy's orders and not mine that once, pet." 

Aramis stiffens with real *fear* — 

And Porthos can't really — he can't. Not like this. He presses his thumb to Aramis's mouth. "It was the heat of the moment, yeah? You made a mistake?" 

Aramis stiffens even *more* — 

"Shh," Porthos says, even though Aramis hasn't made a sound. "'s all right. I'll punish you right and proper, and it'll be what we *both* need. Just tell me — was it a mistake? Or did you *mean* to disobey? Either way, you get to have more. More of *everything* — I promise." And he moves his thumb. 

Aramis pants — 

Pants — 

Whimpers so high — 

"I *promise*, pet. I'll take care of you," Porthos says, and then nods toward where Daddy is *absolutely* standing naked and *hard* by the bed — 

And that's an excellent bloody idea — 

— with his arms crossed over his hairy chest. "I'm willing to bet Daddy can't bloody wait to get a hand into taking care of you, too." 

"That is the absolute truth," Daddy says, low and *sharply* amused. 

Aramis inhales sharply, flushes *hard* — and hangs his hand. "Master. I meant to disobey." 

And the need for that — 

The need to make Aramis *right* — 

"Tell me why, pet." 

"I wanted to suck you. I wanted — the desire was so *strong*, and I knew that I hadn't made you understand *how* strong it was —" 

"Was it need?" 

"Oh. *Yes* —" 

"And it was easier to follow Daddy's orders — thus disobeying mine — than it was to wait for me, or to try to make me *see*." 

"Yes, Master. Yes — and I — I apologize!"

"Shh. Like I said, 's all right. I'm *going* to punish you, but I made it hard on you. It's our first time, *you're* drugged, and Daddy was a bloody wild card, eh?" 

"It — if you say it is so —" 

"I *do* say," Porthos says, and strokes Aramis's beard, and cups his chin, and slowly, gently, lifts his face. "I also say that maybe it's not the best idea for me to be your *only* Master, pet." 

Aramis inhales sharply — 

Again — 

"I. I. Master?" 

Porthos hauls Aramis up until he's straddling Porthos's left thigh with one knee on the chair between Porthos's legs and one foot on the floor. And then he pulls Aramis's face down until they're breathing each other's breaths again, and kisses him — 

"Mm —" 

And kisses him *hard* — 

"*MM* —"

And kisses him deep and long and wet and hungry, sodding hungry, because yeah, he *is* insanely beautiful, but he's also brilliant and fascinating and just plain *insane*, and — 

And you have to touch him — 

You have to touch him every chance you *get* — 

And then, if you're worth any-goddamned-thing, you have to pull back and say — "That's the way I wanted to kiss you the day we met. That's what I was thinking about while I was trying to come up with any halfway interesting thing to say to get you to stay close. That's why half the things I said — or more, probably — were variations on 'fucking hell, you're beautiful.' It was either that or just grab you," Porthos says, and strokes over the blindfold. 

Aramis pants — and smiles. "I would have accepted the grabbing, as well, Master." 

"Yeah, eh? No more wasted time, then. No more wasted time for anything. Because I'm thinking about something you said earlier, pet," Porthos says, and cups Aramis's cheeks. 

"Yes, Master? And — and I am ready for my punishment —" 

"Shh, wait. I'm thinking about how you said no one but me wanted you, or would accept you — your *honesty*." 

Aramis inhales — and flushes. And stiffens, too, and — 

"You're thinking about Daddy behind you. Daddy's eyes on you." 

"Master —" 

"Shh. You are. We *both* know you are. You *should* be thinking about Daddy's hand in your *hair*. You liked that, didn't you?" 

Aramis takes a sharp little breath — "I — yes, Master. But — but I can be *faithful*! And —" 

"'course you can. I know it. But I want you to be faithful to *everyone* you. Love." And Porthos is blushing for that — 

He hadn't really — 

He should *plan* better for the things that come out of his *mouth* — 

"Master...?" 

"I — uh." 

"I..." And Aramis licks his lips. "I believe. I believe my Master should. Remove the blindfold." 

"I —" 

"As an aside," Daddy says, low and *hungry*, "the blindfold is yours now, Aramis. And it always will be... except for those times when it's *correct* for me to take it from you and smell you on it. *Taste* you on it." 

Aramis makes a sound like a starving *dog*. "*I* — Daddy — I mean — Master, I'm sorry —" 

"Shh. I never said you couldn't speak to Daddy. We never *agreed* to that rule. Now did we." 

"N-no. We didn't."

"That's right. So we're in the clear. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Master. For — this part." 

"Good boy. Are you ready for me to take the blindfold off?" 

"Yes, Master. I — I wish you to see me. All of me, *please*." 

Porthos grunts. "I've wanted that for so *bloody* long — here," he says, and tugs the blindfold off. 

Aramis's eyes are closed, and it's impossible not to brush at those lashes a little, to touch the soft skin under his eyes — 

Aramis takes another gasping breath — and opens his eyes, blinking and squeezing his eyes shut several times, probably to get used to the light. And then he stops, and stares down into Porthos's eyes — "Master..."

Porthos's prick flexes *hard* — 

Aramis looks at *that* — 

Licks his *lips* — 

"I cannot believe I was allowed to touch, to taste..." He licks his lips again and looks up. "My Master, perhaps. Perhaps he does not understand that his pet loves him?" 

Porthos grunts — "You — fuck — *pet* —" 

"May I touch my Master?" 

"How. How is your control?" 

"I feel much better, Master. I feel... almost controlled. Almost like *myself*." 

"Do you?" 

Aramis smiles wryly. "There is the small matter of the growing *sensitivity* in my genitals that I cannot help but find ominous for the days to come —" 

"You're *off*-duty until further notice," Daddy says. 

Aramis grunts — "I —" 

"You should feel free to consider that your punishment from your *commanding officer* for dabbling in alchemy and then proceeding to use yourself as a *research subject* entirely without orders or even *permission*." 

Aramis starts panting again — 

And his prick is rising just as beautifully as you please. 

Porthos grins and rubs just under the head with the trigger callus on his right hand — 

"*Unh* —" 

"You should know, Daddy... my pet liked that very, very much." 

"Did he, now." 

"Yeah. He did." 

"Mm. I suppose we're going to have to spend a great deal of time and effort discerning the other sorts of things he likes." 

"Us and Athos, yeah —" 

"Please — please, I must speak!" 

"You're going to lose control, pet?" And Porthos slows his rubbing to a stop — 

"Unh — nuh — *fuck* — I thought I was — I thought I was *closer*," he says, and sounds *bitterly* angry with himself —

He balls his hands into *fists* — 

"Shh, pet. Be easy. You know we'll take care of you," Porthos says. "You know we *want* to take care of you." 

Aramis gives him a *desperate* look — 

"Pet. Even if I *didn't* love you like mad —" 

Aramis grunts *again* — 

"There's still the fact that you're *you*, and I'm not *insane*." 

Daddy snorts. "One could argue that last, son. But I will happily put any number of edged weapons through anyone and everyone who even *suggests* that I do not love my boys — or that they do not love each other." 

Aramis's eyes are *wild* — 

He looks *panicked* again — 

He looks *wrong*. 

So Porthos grabs him by the bollocks and squeezes *firmly*. 

Aramis *shouts* — and pants. 

"Easy, pet. Just breathe." 

"I — I —" 

"Shh. Breathe." 

"Please, Master, it — please —" 

"You need something more before you *can* breathe." 

"Yes!" 

"Tell me what it is. Clear as you can." 

"Please don't move your hand!" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "I won't. Not for a while, yet. Tell me. Tell *us*." 

Aramis moans and flushes so *dark* — "Yes, Master. Yes, I — I *love* you. I am in love with you. I — oh, God, I don't know — no. No. I *do* know what I am saying. I have *enough* control for that," he says, and licks his lips. "You. You call me brother and you mean it so *much*. You *touch* me and, even when it was innocent, I could feel how much you enjoyed — 

"How much you *wanted*..." 

"Of *course* —" 

"No, no, not *sex*, or — not *only* sex. I want to crawl at your *feet*, Master. I want to lick your body clean while the water heats for a proper bath. I want — I *want* —" 

"You want to *serve* me, I know, I want it, too —" 

"*Yes*, Master. *Please*, Master. Please let me *do* this —" 

"I'd never say no —" 

"Please let me do this just the way *you* like, and when I do wrong, please punish me, put me in my place so that I may *learn* —" 

Porthos squeezes Aramis's bollocks *harder* — 

Aramis *screams* — "I apologize! I will do better!" 

"Shh. Quiet now, pet. Can you do that for me?" And Porthos makes sure *not* to say 'us', even though — 

Well, he'll make it right for Aramis *first*. 

"Mm? Can you be quiet for me?" 

Aramis pants more — "Yes, Master! Yes! I will be good!" 

"You're bloody perfect, and you're bloody perfect for *me*," Porthos says, and eases his grip slowly, carefully — "You can go ahead and make noise for this. Just don't speak." 

"Mm!" And Aramis nods as he whimpers and moans *softly* for the feel of the blood rushing back to his bollocks. 

And *keeps* moaning — 

His prick *drips* on Porthos's thigh — 

Porthos *doesn't* lick the slick up — yet — 

And he *does* focus: "Good boy. Now — it's going to take a little bit for me to *deal* with the idea that all this — you *loving* me — isn't just a really *good* fantasy — " 

Another plaintive noise — 

"— but I *will* deal with it, pet. Just like *you'll* deal with how it took me about three *weeks* to figure *out* that I'd fallen for you *already*." 

Wide eyes. Wide and — 

"You're so sodding *gorgeous*." Porthos snorts and shakes his head. "I'll tell you a secret that really sodding *isn't*, pet: We try to seduce each other sometimes. *Now* you can talk." 

"What — what? I don't — I've never — other than as *jokes* that I wished you would call my *bluff* for —" 

"Athos is pretty good at figuring things out, wouldn't you say?" 

Aramis frowns. "Yes, but —" 

"He's even better at it when the three of us do things like go out drinking on the regular, and the *two* of us get so *soused* that *you* tell me *I'm* beautiful —" 

"Oh — fuck —" 

"And *I* tell *you* that I want to suck your *prick* —" 

"Did I say *no*?" 

"The first time you giggled and vomited —" 

"Oh, God —" 

"The *next* time, you giggled and pissed your breeches —" 

"Why do you *care* for me?" 

"You were mortified until I pointed out that at least we knew you wouldn't do it in my mouth. We were *about* to have sex, and then Athos pointed out — I'm not sure if he remembers this — that we were in public. I blacked out after that." 

"I." 

"The *next* time —" 

"Master." 

"Why haven't we fucked?" 

"*Yes*!" 

"Because I was *reasonably* sure it wasn't the kind of offer you'd enjoy... sober," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. 

The blood drains from Aramis's face. 

Porthos reaches up and strokes it. "Shh, pet. No going back now. I won't let us." 

"Please do not! Please — I won't — I cannot *take* —"

"I —" 

"*Son*," Daddy says, sharp and *hard*. 

Aramis gasps and straightens — and Porthos can see the pulse pounding in his throat. "Yes, sir," he says, without turning around. 

"I would not let him take himself from you, even if he *did* have anything remotely resembling the inclination to do so." 

"But — if he did not wish —" — 

"Because it would be taking himself away from happiness." 

Aramis licks his lips. "You. You love my Master very much." 

Fuck — 

"I love all my boys, son," he says, in *that* voice. 

"I... sir..." 

"Yes, Aramis...? Are you, perhaps, wondering why I made that sound like a *threat*?" 

"I. Yes, sir." 

Daddy laughs, low and *dark*. 

*Both* Aramis's and Porthos's pricks twitch for it, and Porthos *sincerely* hopes the man has a good enough angle to *see* it — 

"You're not going to take yourself from *him*, son."

"I won't! I would not!" 

"Not even if he seemed unsure? Doubtful about essentially having made you his *property* while you were intellectually and emotionally incapacitated? Inclined toward fucking off to drink and brood like my *other* son?" 

Porthos opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

Opens it again — "I'm not going to do that, sir! I mean — I did say —" 

"Not even if he changes his mind should *you* do something incalculably foolish like leaving him alone for ten minutes?" 

"Sir, I need more than ten *minutes* to —" — 

"Sir, if he needs only ten minutes to —" 

They stop. 

They look at each other. 

They *both* lick their lips — and cough. 

"Um." 

"Ah..." And Aramis rubs at the back of his neck *precisely* the way he does when he's feeling a bit caught-out about something. 

Not that Porthos can talk, being as how he's trying to find a way to hide *behind* Aramis — 

They stop that. 

They look *at* each other. 

"So..." 

"My Master... perhaps we will listen to... Daddy," Aramis says, and flushes right down his chest to his belly-button. 

Porthos looks *up* — 

Aramis's *lips* are parted — 

"Yeah. We'll do that. We'll *always* do that." 

"Always... together?" 

Porthos licks his lips. That's an *important* question. A question with a right answer and a *wrong* answer. And — he damned well knows the right one. 

He knows the answer in his bones. 

He reaches up to cup Aramis's throat and squeeze, just a little. "I'm not the kind of Master who lets my pets run free." 

Aramis parts his lips again — "Please, Master."

"What do you need. Mm?" 

Aramis's smile is rueful and happy at once. "For you to tell me what I need. Please." 

Porthos squeezes his throat harder. "How's that, pet?" 

Aramis closes his eyes — and all the ruefulness leaves his eyes, just like that. "Thank you, Master," he says, in a small, choked voice. "Please. More." 

"You need to be on that bed with me and Daddy, pet." 

Aramis smiles wider. "Yes, Master," he says, and rises slowly so as not to break Porthos's grip — 

Porthos rises with him — and walks Aramis right back to the bed. Aramis is just as graceful as he *should* be walking backwards, and he's still *smiling*, and it just gets bigger — *more* — when Porthos makes him sit down — 

Lie down — 

Scoot over to the middle of the bed — "Spread your legs, pet." 

"Yes, Master," he says in that choked voice as he obeys —

"You know they always should be, anyway," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows, just a little — 

Aramis's jaw drops — and his prick twitches *violently*. 

"That's beautiful, pet. You always are. You're always *perfect*." 

"For you —" 

"Shh. You want me to tell you what you need." 

"Yes, Master —" 

"You want to obey me." 

"Yes, Master —" 

"You want to do every little thing I tell you to. Don't you." 

"*Yes*, Master!" 

Porthos smiles. "I want all of that — and I'm going to *have* it." 

"Please!" 

"Daddy..." 

"Yes, son?" 

"Please give my pet an order. Any one." 

"*Any* one, son?" 

And that... is a lot of different questions at *once* — but all of them have been answered for *him*. "Yes, Daddy," he says, and, "Please." 

"Mm. Very well. Aramis. *Son*." 

Aramis's eyes are *wide* — 

He's panting again — or trying to. Porthos's grip is too tight. 

Porthos nods to him. "Answer him, pet." 

"Yes, sir —"

"Be. My. *Boy*." 

Well, *fuck*. Porthos grins. "Always did like the way you never pissed about, Daddy." 

"One does one's best, son," Treville says, and climbs onto the bed, moving up on Aramis's right and planting one hand flat on his chest. 

And raising an eyebrow. 

Aramis, for his part, looks stunned *absolutely* everywhere except for his *prick*, which is leaking *all* over his belly. 

Porthos squeezes his throat *hard* for a moment — 

Aramis arches and *jerks*, reaching abortively for Porthos's wrist — and then *dropping* his hands to his sides and *gripping* the duvet. 

"That's right, pet. Be a good boy now." 

Aramis drops his *body* back to the bed — and nods, not even *trying* to take a breath. 

"Perfect," Porthos says. "Now spread just a little wider so Daddy can see more of you." 

And *that* was an attempted gasp — Porthos can *feel* it — but Aramis obeys. 

"Good, good boy." 

"Very good boy," Daddy says — almost — *purrs*. 

Aramis flushes so *deeply* — 

"I'll let you breathe — and talk — in just a little bit, pet. But first I'm going to tell you what you need, and what you're going to do about it." 

Another attempted gasp — 

A *shudder* — 

And Aramis stills himself all over. 

"Good boy. One night — just one, but it was *memorable*, and Athos wasn't there to record it for posterity *or* save us from ourselves — you told me I was beautiful, but *didn't* give me a chance to try to talk your prick into my mouth. 

"Instead, you started talking about bending over Daddy's *desk*. Now, first I was thinking I was the one giving you a railing, enjoying being *naughty* and all that, but then you tell me how you get a little hard every time Daddy completely fails to let you get away with something. How it makes your chest tight and your bollocks *tighter*. 

"I tell *you* I feel exactly the same way — and then haul your arse home, because we're both dozing off in the inn.

"Now, given all this tonight — and all the ways *we* completely failed to fuck — no, don't look panicked now, pet. It's just this: I never offered to bend you over anything. 

"I never *ordered* you onto your knees. 

"I never sodding *once* slammed you against a wall and *held* you there with one hand on your chest and your arms twisted and pinned behind your back while I slapped you over and over and *over* again for the bloody *crime* of not *begging* for my *prick*." 

Aramis *bucks* — 

"Yeah. You need that, too. You needed it then and you need it *now*. You need a *Master*, and, just like you tried *hard* to tell me before you started getting little bits of your control back and it shut your mouth? You need him to be just a little *cruel*. — 

Aramis bucks again — 

*Again* — 

*Grips* at the duvet tries to spread his legs even wider — — 

"That's right. *Good* boy. But.

"You also need a Daddy. 

"Someone who can *teach* you *lessons*. Teach you in a hard, warm voice that sinks right into your spine and makes it so you *have* to learn them. 

"Makes it so you have to know those lessons in your bones *forever*.

"Makes it so you have to be a whole new *person* — because the old one didn't and *couldn't* know those things.

"Makes it? So you have no. Bloody. *Choices*. *At*. *All*." 

And Aramis opens his mouth in a cry with no *sound* — 

His eyes are *dazed* again — 

"You don't have any choices *now*, pet," Porthos says. "We both know that. We *all* know that. You're allowed to say exactly *two* words when I loosen my grip on your throat and you *know* what they are. So. Are you going to be Daddy's boy?" 

And Porthos waits one more moment — 

*Just* until Aramis has his wide, desperate eyes *locked* on Porthos's own — 

And *then* Porthos loosens his grip, just enough for Aramis to get *controlled* breaths. 

He takes two. And then: "Yes, Master."


	5. In which everyone has good ideas... and the story ends abruptly. Sorry about that!

Porthos smiles. "Good boy. Now tell me what you need right this moment." 

"I need — I need my punishment very soon, Master. From — from *you*," Aramis says, hoarse and low, and just a *little* panicked. 

"From me, I promise. What else?" 

Aramis takes another breath. "Thank you, Master. I need. I need to be yours," Aramis says, and blushes, but doesn't look away or *blink*. 

"I'm never letting you go. What else?" 

Aramis shivers. "It is. It..." He licks his lips. "I need to know that *you* know that there is nothing I will not do for you, Master. I need to know that you understand... that you understand that, with you, there will be no limits. Not ever." 

And that... Porthos licks his teeth. Nice and slow. "I think I know how I can *start* to prove that to you, pet." 

Aramis... grunts. 

"Was that anticipation?" 

"And... fear." 

"Yeah? Of what," Porthos says, and reaches past Daddy's arm with *his* other arm to stroke Aramis's hair out of his face. 

"I..." Aramis laughs. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Except that I also know nothing, Master."

Porthos grins. "I know how that works, I think. But be more specific anyway." 

Aramis smiles so *warmly*. "Yes, Master. I wonder... I cannot help but wonder if my Master will still care for his pet after his pet has pleased him... in certain ways." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "'Certain ways'...?

Aramis squeezes his eyes shut — *while* still smiling warmly — 

And Porthos gets it. He tugs on a lock of Aramis's hair. "You're mine, pet. You. The man who was *embarrassed* about being so drunk he pissed himself, but who didn't get any bloody *softer*. The man who didn't get any softer even though this all happened in front of *another* man. The man who's asked me *repeatedly* to drive him into the *dirt*. The man whose *arse* I'm going to lick — and kiss, and *suck* — for *hours* at *least* once a week, no matter how much you beg me to stop and just *rail* you —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"You want to be on your knees? I'll put you on your bloody knees, pet. You want to be on your *tear-streaked* face with your arse high in the air and swollen and red and *welted*? Well, then that sounds like an *excellent* way to *start* an evening. Am I making myself clear?"

Aramis pants — and grins with obviously relieved *delight*. "Very much so, Master —" 

"What else are you afraid of?" 

"I — it seems so minor —" 

"It isn't. It's *you*, so it *can't* be." 

"*Master* — *fuck* — I." 

"Say it." 

"Yes, Master. It's — in many ways, my Daddy is a mystery." 

Daddy growls — short and sharp. "That won't. Last. Son. I will never be as *eloquent* as *any* of my boys, but I promise to find as many ways as humanly possible to show you precisely what you mean to me — and why *I* will never let you go."

Aramis moans — "Yes. Yes, Daddy. 

"As for *me*... heh. Kindly move your hand for just a bit, Daddy." 

"Hmm. *I* can't help wondering why I would ever wish to do anything like that." 

"Well, Daddy — and you should definitely correct me if I'm wrong about this — I was thinking you might enjoy squeezing in there between your boy —" 

"I. I would also like to be. *Your* boy. At times. Master," Aramis says, and blushes like that's the most shocking thing he's said all *night*. "If — you wish it." 

Porthos licks his lips. "I do. And you'll give it to me, and you'll do it sweet. Won't you." 

Aramis moans and winces with *hunger*. "Yes, *please*." 

"Good boy. Now shh." 

"Yes, Master," Aramis says, and shuts his mouth tight. 

Porthos turns back to Daddy — 

"Our boy, son...?" And Daddy's giving him that mean-hungry look again. 

"Oh — God, yeah. You should uh. You should definitely think about holding him between your legs. Maybe letting him warm your prick up between those cheeks." 

"You don't want to heat them up for me first?" 

Aramis *whimpers* — 

"That is an *excellent* idea... but I think my pet wants and needs something just a little harder for his very first punishment, Daddy. Just a little more *serious*," Porthos says, and raises his eyebrows again — 

And Daddy moves his hand — 

And Porthos grabs Aramis by the wrists and *jerks* him up into a seated position — 

And Daddy moves into position *behind* Aramis — and *immediately* yanks him back against his chest, holding him tight round the ribs and kissing his throat *softly*. 

Aramis cries *out* — 

And Daddy just... just makes *love* to Aramis's throat, wet and needy and *thorough*, both sides, before licking up to his left ear and biting the lobe *hard* — 

"Daddy!" 

"I've dreamed of doing that — *just* that — since the first day we met, son. I'd been watching you shoot — watching you hit target after target no matter how difficult we made it for you, watching you charm and flirt your way through the jealousies and resentments of the other men... you made them think you harmless. A fop. A *dandy*," Daddy says, growling the last word. "All so they'd never think too *very* hard about how much *better* than them you were. 

"How much smarter. 

"How much more *talented* and *skilled* in so *many* different *ways*." And Daddy growls a *laugh*. "My Aramis. That's not all you were hiding. I knew that much. Old soldiers don't get to *be* old soldiers without getting an instinct for that sort of thing. It's what *told* me to take on a man who obviously hadn't held a *sword* outside of fencing salons —" 

Aramis gasps — 

And Daddy laughs softly and kisses Aramis's cheek. "Did you think you'd tricked me, son?" 

"I... am often a fool, Daddy," Aramis says, blushing and smiling ruefully. 

"That you are. A beautiful, mad, wild..." Daddy growls again. "Do you remember that *night*, son?" 

"I... did not see you, I don't think?" 

"No, you didn't," Daddy says, and shows his teeth. "But I saw you. I'd followed you to the kitchens — it's just a good idea to see what sorts of appetites one's men have, and whether those appetites involve the scullery boys." 

And Aramis — bares his teeth. "*Mine* do not." 

"That they don't," Daddy says, and reaches up to cup Aramis's throat with one hand while stroking his chest with the other. 

"Daddy —"

"There were rumors about Campagnol, but he'd never been caught in the act... before you. And those particular two scullery boys were too new to know they could trust *any* of the other adults... it's an old story." 

"It is *not* a story — it — I —" And Aramis flushes *deeply*. "I apologize, Daddy." 

Daddy looks to him with a wry smile. "I don't think he has anything in particular to apologize for, son. Do you?" 

Porthos narrows his eyes. "Not even bloody remotely." 

"Well, there you are," Daddy says, and keeps stroking him. "I was in time to watch you take in the scene in an eye-blink. And then I watched you take Campagnol's left *eye* in a truly beautiful piece of precision knifework. 

"I remember having enough time to *start* pull my sword — and then you stabbed him so perfectly in both thighs that hardly any blood spattered, at all." 

"I did not want to leave a mess for the boys. You learn... it is difficult to learn the sword in truly useful ways when one does not have a martial — or noble — background. The same is not the case for other sorts of blades." 

"Mm. So it isn't," Daddy says, and *bites* his cheek — 

Aramis gasps — 

Daddy licks and *sucks* where he's bitten. "You made sure he'd bleed out into his own boots," he says, and laughs low and dark and dirty. 

"I — yes, Daddy." 

"You propped him up against a wall and spent *just* a little while hissing imprecations at him so he'd go to Hell knowing what a pathetic, weak, disgusting excuse for a man he'd *been*." 

"That — that is also true, Daddy —" 

Daddy laughs again, low and pleased. "And then, just when he was starting to beg and cry and *pule* in a way that was frightening the children? You stabbed him in the heart. *Neatly*." 

"Yes, Daddy. I — yes." 

"And I thought to myself... 'well, Treville, you're going to need some *truly* exceptional people to build a unit around this one — assuming you ever can — but, in the meantime, you're going to spend any *number* of nights spending *explosively* whilst you dream about the pretty little killer in your nest." 

And Porthos watches the happiness grow on Aramis's face — 

The shy and curious and *boyish* *wonder* — 

And Porthos can't help but grin. "I've got a secret for you, pet: A vanishingly small number of people who get to see how beautiful you *really* are *won't* love you madly." 

Aramis *coughs* — "Master — that — that is not the *truth* —"

"Remember: I said *people*, not people-what-need-kicks-in-the-*teeth*." 

Aramis *splutters* — 

"Precisely," Daddy says. "Mind your Master, now..." 

Aramis — giggles like a child. "Yes, Daddy. Yes, Master. Please. Please punish me now." 

And Porthos's prick flexes, just like that. 

"Oh — Master. You are hard for my punishment?" 

"Very much so, pet. I want to hurt you *just* this way," Porthos says, moving just a bit closer and kneeling up. "Chin up." 

Aramis moans — "Yes, Master —" 

"Eyes *front* — yeah. Just like that. Let me always see you, pet. Let me always see *exactly* how bloody gorgeous you are —" 

And he slaps Aramis's cheek — 

"— when you're taking it for me." 

Aramis *pants* — "I — I — oh..." 

"Yeah, pet...?" 

Aramis turns *back* to face him, eyes wide and full and *hopeful* even as his cheek reddens right up — 

"*Fuck*, you're —" Porthos growls as his prick *spasms*. "You're sodding perfect. Now tell me you're ready for *more*." 

Aramis *grins*. "*Yes*, Master —" 

Porthos slaps the other cheek *hard* — 

Aramis cries *out* — 

His prick *spatters* Porthos's *belly* — 

"Did that hurt, pet?" 

"Yes — oh, *yes* — please, more!" And Aramis turns back to him, eyes still so full, lips parted and swelling at the corners — 

"Three more, pet. Just three." 

Aramis whines — 

"Shh. That's all you earned. I think we *both* know that, as *teaching* punishments go... this one can use a little work," Porthos says, and they laugh together; Daddy, *too* — 

"It's only — I haven't had — not like *this*," Aramis says, and now his laughter is a little wild, a little close to hysterical —

"Shh," Porthos says, cupping Aramis's cheeks — 

Rubbing them with his roughest calluses — 

"Oh — *oh* —" 

"You like that, pet? Mm?" 

"Yes — yes, Master —" 

"You're going to breathe for me?" 

Aramis blinks rapidly and nods, moans and *nuzzles* against Porthos's palms — 

"Oh — fuck, that's sweet. I *love* that." 

Aramis smiles and shivers and nuzzles more — and breathes. 

"That's right. Good boy. Slow down a little. You get to have everything you want. You just find a way to let us know what it is." 

Aramis moans again and reaches up to cup Porthos's left hand — and covers Daddy's hand on his chest with *his* other hand. 

Daddy makes a soft and hungry noise. "There is nothing Porthos has said in my hearing that I don't agree with entirely," he says. "I want to pleasure you senseless." And he kisses Aramis's ear — 

Licks it — 

"I want to find every way to do it that leaves you sobbing and sweaty and *limp*, son," he says, and brings his other hand to Aramis nipple — "Ask me to hurt you."

Aramis *gasps* — "Daddy — *Daddy*. I am — not done with my punishment!" 

Daddy looks at him — 

And Porthos grins and *grips* Aramis's face. "New rule, starting *right* now, pet. Are you ready?" 

"Yes — yes, Master —" 

"Every time you make me or Daddy wait for you to follow an order...? You earn just a little more punishment." 

Aramis's eyes go as wide as a boy's faced with his first real sword — and then he's wincing with that hard and *needy* lust. "I. Will you. Will it be punishment like... this?"

Porthos licks his lips and looks at Daddy again. "What do *you* think, Daddy? Should we slap our boy around?" 

Daddy sighs, mock-sadly. "I think he might need it, son. He lacks... discipline. That much has always been painfully obvious." 

Aramis moans *loudly*. "Please! Please — please make the new rule — I didn't ask Daddy to hurt me — please punish me for that!" 

Porthos shows his teeth — 

Daddy *bites* Aramis's ear — 

"Ahn —" 

"You still *haven't* asked your Daddy to hurt you, pet. So. *Four* more smacks, right to your pretty face." 

"*Fuck* — thank you —" 

"Five." 

"Oh — Daddy! Please hurt me! Please — please, I want it so much —" 

Daddy stops biting and laughs low and hungry. "Good boy. Porthos...?" 

"Yeah, Daddy?" 

"Would you like me to wait?" And Daddy is rubbing and rubbing and *rubbing* Aramis's nipple with *his* calluses — 

Porthos licks his lips. "Not at all. Be my guest." 

"Thank you," he says, and the honest *gratitude* in his voice — 

In his eyes — 

Porthos feels himself flushing and *sweating* — 

And sweating *bullets* when Daddy just keeps *rubbing* that nipple and drops his other hand to Aramis's *prick*, stroking hard once, twice, again — and then smacking it, right at the tip. 

Aramis *screams*, wide-eyed and *shocked* —

Gasps twice and screams *again* — maybe for the flood of feeling *after* the smack? Porthos doesn't know. He's never bloody *felt* that. 

Aramis is blinking rapidly and *moaning* — 

But. "You like that, pet?" 

He moans *more*, gripping at his own thighs — and nodding desperately. 

"Should Daddy do it again?" 

"*Please*!" 

Porthos licks his lips. "Right. Well, then, pet, you have to *earn* it." 

"Yes — please — please, tell me *how*!" 

"Oh, pet. It's simple. You just have to look me in the eye when I'm smacking your face. Don't blink, don't turn. Just... show me everything. All right?" 

Aramis *groans*, prick spattering both of them — "*Yes*, Master!" 

"Oh — *fuck*, pet, you're driving me up a sodding *tree*. Right. Are you ready?" 

"Yes —" 

"Shh, pet," Porthos says, and grips Aramis's throat. "I need to hold you a little while I'm doing this. I need — fuck. In my *perfect* world I'd be buried bollocks-deep in your *arse* while I was doing this —" 

Aramis *grunts* — 

"Mm. I like the way you think, son." 

"That's right warming, sir. I don't suppose *you'd* like to —" 

"There is a vanishingly small number of things I *wouldn't* like to do to — and with, and on, and in, and et cetera — Aramis." 

"That is something I understand with *all* of myself, sir," Porthos says, and smacks Aramis *hard* — 

Aramis *shouts* — and doesn't look away for even a moment. 

Just pants, right there, as he reddens up. 

Blood drips from inside his mouth, and — 

Fuck. Just — *fuck*. 

"Open wide, pet," Porthos says — 

Aramis obeys — 

And Porthos turns him and looks, and looks — there, a little cut on the inside of his cheek from one of his teeth. 

Nothing serious. 

Nothing — 

Porthos stops lying to himself and kisses Aramis hard — 

"*MM* —" 

Kisses him and licks him and *tastes* him, tastes his own prick and his own spend and — blood. 

Right there. Sharp and bright and metal and perfect. 

And when he pulls back — 

When he *can* pull back — 

Daddy is right there giving him that *hungry* look. 

Porthos nods —

And Daddy pulls a *dazed*-looking Aramis back into his own kiss, dirty and wet and soft-looking even as he *works* Aramis's *prick*. 

Aramis *whimpers* into the kiss — 

Flails and clutches at Porthos's arm — 

*Bucks* into Daddy's hand once, twice — 

And Daddy breaks the kiss with a low and slow and hungry growl, spit stretching between his and Aramis's mouths for a moment before dripping to the bed — 

And then Daddy turns to him with *another* question in his eyes. 

"Yeah," Porthos says. "He's earned it." 

Daddy grins and smacks Aramis's prick *twice* — 

"Nuh — *AHN* —" 

"As an aside, son," Daddy says, to *him*. 

"Yeah, Daddy?" And Porthos turns Aramis back to face him, kisses all over his face — 

*Licks* Aramis's swollen mouth as he moans and tries to *catch* the kisses — 

*Bites* — 

Bites and gets lost in biting, gets — 

Just — 

His cheek, and his other cheek with the little burn scar that only really shows up when he's incredibly happy or incredibly *angry*. 

His jaw, and that perfect beard. 

His ears, and the earlobes Porthos sometimes tries to convince Aramis to pierce when they're both *stupidly* drunk. 

His throat — 

"Will you draw blood that way, son?" 

Porthos grunts — 

Daddy laughs. "Was that a yes?" 

Porthos bites *hard* — 

Aramis cries out and just — *gives* himself to Porthos and Daddy — 

Goes limp in their *arms* — 

"He wants you to..." 

Porthos growls and licks his way back to Aramis's mouth — 

Tastes — no more blood. 

He pulls back. "He wants a lot of things," Porthos says, steadying Aramis with a hand around his throat — 

"What do you want, son?" 

"Everything —" 

"Do you?" 

And — there's an urge to laugh for that, to point out certain salient *facts* — 

But Daddy has his own salient facts to point out, right about now. Like how Porthos *hasn't* taken Daddy up on his offers, as opposed to just made sure that *Aramis* would. 

And that — 

"Uh." 

Daddy raises his eyebrows. Both of them. 

"You know... I'm *thinking* of you as Daddy right now. And — I have been. For a while." 

Daddy blinks — and growls. "Porthos. *Son*." 

"And —" Porthos shakes himself a little and *grips* Aramis by the throat, squeezing hard — 

"Nnk —" 

"Just wait a moment, pet." 

Aramis nods as much as Porthos's hold on his throat will *allow* — 

And Porthos moves just a little closer, leaning in over Aramis's shoulder. "Daddy, I've tossed myself off a *lot* to thoughts of you just... doing whatever you *want* —" 

"And what is it that I want? In your dearest fantasies?" 

Porthos blushes. "I'm — on my knees. Or bent over. Or — or you're just. Fuck. I look at your belts and I think about you teaching me not to be — to be *afraid* of that — of that kind of." Porthos bites his lip and can't really make himself — 

He can't —

It's too bloody *much* — 

Except that Daddy is searching him, studying him with his lips parted and his eyes just a little wild — "You want that." 

"I — I don't —" 

"You *want* that," he says, and it's an order, a demand, a demand to tell the bloody *truth* — 

"Fuck — *yeah*." 

"Oh... son." 

"Look, I *know* it's bloody ridiculous —" 

"No. It isn't. You want to be... put in your place?" 

Porthos winces. "I... I don't know." 

Daddy raises his eyebrows. 

"I don't, Daddy. I want — I want to feel it. I want you to — just sodding take *over*. But —" 

"You don't know if you can stand being that... small. You don't know if you can *allow* that to happen." 

"It — yeah," Porthos says, and lets Aramis take a breath — 

Another — 

He squeezes his throat again — 

Aramis *grips* Porthos's forearm — and doesn't even try to get free. 

"I'm not so brave as Aramis, Daddy. I'm not so..." Porthos shakes his head. "I need. I need... the ground under my feet. I need it to be solid." 

"No, son, that's not it, at all." 

"I —" 

"You need the ground under your feet to be familiar, and yours, and *safe* — same as your brother." 

"Daddy —" 

"Shh," Daddy says, and pushes a hand into Aramis's hair before not-quite-whispering into his ear. "Son. Are your foundations solid with Porthos as your Master?" 

Aramis mouths 'yes'. 

"Is he familiar? Yours? Safe?" 

Aramis flushes right to his hairline and all the way down to his nipples — 'Yes.' 

"Am I becoming that way for you, son?" 

Aramis's lashes flutter on his dark cheeks — 'Yes.' 

Daddy growls. "That makes me very happy, son..." 

Aramis's smile is dazed, loopy and *soft* — 

Porthos lets him take *three* breaths — 

Squeezes him *tight* again — 

"Son." 

And that — was directed to him. Pointedly and warningly and promisingly and everything *else* — "Yeah, Daddy?" 

"Do you take my point?" 

"I — yeah. But it still just — I mean, Aramis is *able* to look for foundations outside of himself —" 

"I think you are, too." 

Porthos grunts. "Daddy —" 

"I think," Daddy says, and reaches out to stroke Porthos's cheek with the hand he doesn't have in Aramis's hair. "I think your fantasy life would look very different if you weren't able to look outside yourself for foundations." 

"They — it could just be —" 

"Idle fantasy, son?" 

Porthos swallows. "I — yeah." 

Daddy tilts his chin up, just a little, and strokes down over Porthos's mouth, his beard, his throat — "You want me to convince you." 

"Shit — fuck — you don't have to —" 

"I want to. Anyone would." 

"No — *no* —" 

"Mm, no, you're right. Far more people would be interested in convincing you to be *their* foundations."

Porthos grunts — 

"You won't be surprised when Athos asks for just that, will you?" 

Porthos *blushes* — and thinks about the look that got into Athos's eyes — *behind* the drink-crumbled mask — whenever the dirty talk turned to pain or discipline or the like. 

The look that — every once in a very *specific* while — got turned in *his* direction, and *not* in Aramis's. 

The look... "I'm. I've already been. I mean, he'll be *back* soon, Daddy." 

Daddy gives him a *proud* smile. "So he will. And you'll be waiting." 

"We — we *all* will." 

"But *you'll* be, in particular. And you will... take him. And teach him to have faith in you as far, far more than a brother."

Porthos groans. "Fuck — fuck, I want that —" 

Daddy cups his throat. Just — cups. "I want that, too." 

And Porthos realizes — "You — what I feel for Aramis and Athos. You feel for all three of us." 

Daddy grins wryly. "I've been trying to make that clear... hm. But I've managed now?" 

"You. Want... to support me? I mean, to... to make me... to *hold* me — I can't —" 

"You can't say it. You're having an *immense* amount of difficulty even *thinking* it —" 

"Fuck, I'm *sorry* —" 

"Shh. It's all right, son. It's nothing we have to have. We can make love without it —" 

"You know — you know I *want* it —" 

"I do," Daddy says, and smiles wryly, stroking Porthos's throat with his thumb. "It's the only reason why I'm pushing so hard. My sons..." And Daddy licks his lips, wild look back in his eyes. "My sons deserve everything they desire." 

Porthos groans. "Please... please tell me you'll let me try? Someday?" 

"Every time you want to, son. *Every* time." 

"*Fuck* —" 

"And, in the meantime," Daddy says, and strokes back up to Porthos's mouth — 

Pushes *deep* with two fingers — 

Porthos groans and *sucks* — 

Daddy's breath *hitches* — "In the meantime, I have faith in our ability to find other ways to make love." 

Porthos bobs his head on Daddy's fingers — 

Closes his eyes for it and just *enjoys* — 

"There you are, son... suck a little harder..." 

Porthos obeys — 

Feels *Aramis* hitch as he tries and fails to breathe — 

Hitch again and *again* — 

Porthos loosens his grip and listens to him *gasp* — 

Feels him *stare* — 

"Master, I..." 

And Daddy laughs softly. "Do you want his mouth, too, now, son? *Finally*?" 

"I feel I have not properly considered... the... possibilities..." 

Porthos laughs and *chokes* him again — 

"Nnk --" 

"You do realize that he's never *going* to consider those possibilities if you keep doing *that*, son." 

Porthos sucks Daddy's fingers *hard* — 

And then sucks in pulses as he pulls all the way off — 

"I uh..." He licks his lips — 

Stares at Daddy's slick fingers — 

Daddy strokes his mouth — 

"Fuck " 

"Did you have something in particular to say, son?" And the smile on Daddy's face is *evil*. 

Porthos snorts. "You're not going to let up on me, at all, *are* you." 

"No," he says, "I'm not." And then his expression turns serious — "Until you want me to." 

Porthos inhales sharply. "You — promise me you'll ask? I mean, or let me know that you're *thinking* about letting up?" 

Daddy presses on Porthos's lower lip with his thumb. "I promise. This is not the sort of thing that works better with *less* communication." 

Porthos kisses Daddy's thumb. "No, I — I imagine not." 

Daddy smiles, wry and soft — and then cuts his eyes toward Aramis. 

"You're not at all worried about Athos shooting us when he walks in on us smacking Aramis around?" 

"It's a chance we have to take, son." 

Porthos snorts. "Oh, *is* it." 

Daddy pulls on an exaggeratedly serious face and nods. Once. 

"Well. If you're bloody sure about that," he says, and turns back to Aramis, who's red from the smacks *and* the lack of air — 

He lets Aramis gasp and gasp and — 

Then he smacks him hard — 

And again on the other cheek — 

Aramis's prick spatters them both with slick — 

And Daddy grips it and strokes hard and fast — 

Aramis throws his head back on Daddy's shoulder — 

"Mm. I've had this fantasy many times." 

"Just like that?" 

"Oh, yes. Well — no. His cheeks were hot for other reasons," Daddy says, and laughs hard, squeezing Aramis's prick — 

Aramis gasps and arches on his knees — 

Daddy squeezes *harder* — 

"*Please*, Daddy --" 

"Be ready, son." 

"Oh — *oh* --" 

"Yes," Daddy says, and smacks his prick once — 

Twice — 

*Again* — 

Aramis *screams* — 

His cock *jerks*, spattering the three of them *and* the bed — 

Daddy *kisses* Aramis's cheek — 

Aramis grunts — 

"Do you like that, pet?" 

"Yes!" 

"Do you like it when Daddy hurts you?" 

"Yes, please!" 

"Do you like it when he holds you?" 

"I — I --" 

"Shh, don't wait. Just answer." 

And Aramis does *them* one better, turning his face in against Daddy's cheek and kissing him there — "I love it, I love being held --" 

"Ah — fuck," Porthos says, and gives his own prick a squeeze. "By Daddy?" 

"By — I would also love it from my Master --" 

"And Athos? Mm?" 

Aramis shivers — 

"Should we let him hold you, pet?" 

"I... don't know --" 

"You don't know if he wants to, pet...?" And Porthos grins — and grins at Daddy. 

"I suppose it's *possible* that Aramis has never caught that look of stunned cattle Athos occasionally gets around him." 

"It's true that everyone gets that look, sir. He might think it doesn't mean anything in particular." 

Daddy laughs *dirtily* and cups Aramis's throat. "I need you to be smarter than that, son." 

Aramis inhales sharply — "I — yes, Daddy " 

"You know Athos desires you." 

"Yes — yes, he does --" 

"You know that *not* just because we say he does. Don't you." 

"Yes, Daddy!" 

"All right, then," Porthos says, and turns Aramis back to face him. "What *don't* you know?" 

"What — what he *wants*. *How* he wants — how I may... please." 

"Mayhap we should find that out for you. Mm?" 

Aramis opens his mouth — and moans.

"You like that, pet? You like the idea of us doing all the talking for you?" 

"I like... being put in my place. All the ways of being put in my place." 

"All of them, son?" 

Aramis shivers — and smiles. "I, too, have dreamed of your belts, Daddy." 

"On you? Or around your throat?" 

"Please — please, *both*." 

"Should we get you a collar and lead? Should we let you be Daddy's pet, too?" 

Aramis moans. "I... could be the family pet?" 

Porthos growls. "I think that thought deserves a reward, Daddy." 

"I think you're absolutely right. Please hold his cock up against his belly for me." 

"Oh... absolutely, Daddy." 

And Aramis's eyes are already wet with unshed tears, he's panting with *excitement* — 

Porthos has to *press* on his prick to keep it from jerking — "You want this *badly*." 

"Yes, Master, please — please — perhaps you will? Also?" 

"What about your bollocks? Hm?" 

"Oh — God — *please, yes* --" 

"But not just yet," Daddy says, and *pats* the underside of Aramis's prick, and does it again, and again, over and over, slowly increasing the force — 

Aramis starts to *writhe* — 

"Stay still, pet..." 

Aramis grunts and stiffens — 

"No, not like that. Breathe it out..." 

"It — it --" 

"I know; it's hard while Daddy's hurting you like that..." 

"Yes — please --" 

"But you can do it anyway, can't you, pet?" 

"Oh..." 

"You can do it for us, can't you?" 

Aramis shudders and exhales and relaxes, just like that. 

"Oh, pet. Oh, pet, that's gorgeous. You've earned a little something more for that."

"I — I. Yes?" 

"Yeah," Porthos says, and reaches to tug on Aramis's nipples — 

Aramis gasps — 

"Stay put, now." 

"Yes — yes, I will!" 

"Even when I do *this*," Porthos says, and twists just a little hard — 

"Master — Daddy — *NNH* --" And Aramis *starts* to twist, clawing a little at his own thighs — and then stills himself — 

"You can take it, son," Daddy says, and now the smacks to the underside of his prick are landing hard — 

One after *another* — 

Aramis hitches — 

His thighs *flex* — 

He groans loud and *desperate* — 

Porthos *tugs* on his nipples — 

"Nuh — *Master* --" The look in his eyes is pleading, hungry, and he's shuddering all *over* — 

"You don't know how much time I've spent dreaming of sucking on these, pet..." 

"UNH — *please* --" 

"Sucking on 'em, biting 'em, *spanking* 'em "--" 

"*Please*!" 

"Don't you tense, now. Don't do it." 

"I — I — I will not!" And Aramis forces himself to breathe, to slow down —

He moans and *shakes* — 

"How *much* do you like to hurt, pet? Is there anywhere you *don't* like it?" 

"I — I don't know!" 

"Meaning 'let's try everything at least twice before revisiting the question'?" 

Aramis laughs breathlessly, *brightly* — 

Daddy *hums* — and smacks Aramis's prick three — 

More — 

Times.

Aramis sobs and throws his *head* back again, shouting and *gripping* his own thighs — 

And Daddy kisses him, soft and sweet. "That was perfect, son." 

"Yeah, it was. *So* perfect that you get *another* reward..." 

"Oh — oh, *Master*!" 

"Such a good boy we have here, Daddy," Porthos says, and tugs on Aramis's nipples one more time — 

Aramis sobs again and *trembles*, obviously *working* not to stiffen — 

"The very best," Daddy says, giving him a questioning look and continuing to hold Aramis's prick up — not that *that* takes much effort — 

Porthos nods. "Now, don't make me jealous," he says, and lifts Aramis's sac in his hand — 

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes, *please*!" 

Daddy laughs and cups Aramis's throat again with his free hand, holding his head tilted back. "I would never dream of doing such a thing." 

"No?" 

"I'd like to think I'm a better father than that," Daddy says, and *looks* at Porthos — 

Into him — "Not just a Daddy, then." 

"Everything I'm allowed to be," Daddy says, and turns enough to kiss Aramis's ear, and his temple. "Everything I'm allowed to have," he says, and turns *back* to meet Porthos's eyes. 

"That's... a mite intimidating. But not, I should say, in a bad way. Sir." 

Daddy raises his eyebrows — and then blinks. 

And flushes. 

"It... it isn't just a subordinate speaking to his commanding officer who uses the word 'sir'." 

"No, sir. It isn't." 

Daddy pants — 

*Growls* — 

"Say what it is. Say — I'm not *supposed* to give you *this* kind of order, but — don't think of it as —" 

"Some of us didn't have any kind of father, at all, sir." 

Daddy winces — "No. No, you didn't —" 

"Some of us... are maybe, maybe thinking about things you can build that foundation on. That *we* can build it on." 

"*Son*." 

Porthos licks his lips. "If I think of you as *that* kind of Daddy..." He shakes his head and grins wryly. "Are you going to let me down, sir?" 

"No." 

Porthos grunts. "Just — just that? Just *like* that " 

"*Yes*, son." 

And they stare at each other for a long moment — 

Until Porthos realizes that he's *gulping* air — 

That he's just — 

"I'd like to know, sir." 

"There's nothing I won't *tell* you — I." And Daddy laughs, rough and low. "I didn't actually mean for *that* to come out a threat." 

Porthos laughs and *squeezes* Aramis's bollocks — 

Aramis arches up and — gasps, not shouts. 

Porthos holds the squeeze. "Down again, pet. Right into Daddy's lap." 

"I — yes, Master. Yes, I — I — oh, *fuck*." 

"Does it hurt a lot?" 

"No, Master!" And Aramis drops carefully, slowly — 

Turns his face back against Daddy's throat — 

"Do you like how much it *does* hurt?" 

"*Yes*, Master --" 

"Then keep feeling it for a little while," Porthos says, and *pumps* those bollocks — 

"Ahn — *ahn* — oh, *fuck* --" 

— a few times — 

"Would you like me to do that to you, son?" 

Porthos *grunts* — and licks his lips as he really pays *attention* to the sweat at Daddy's temples — 

The sweat showing right above his moustache — 

"You're... losing control?" And just *saying* that makes his bloody heart *pound* — 

"One of us hasn't spent, son. But I think you were going to tell me something. Or ask me something?" 

Porthos licks his lips. "I just —I want to know. Who they were." 

"'They'?" 

"The women who *almost* got you to marry them. The women you *almost* turned away from your duty for." 

Daddy shakes his head and smiles. "You'll find the list very short... and peopled mostly with daydreams." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows — 

And Aramis makes a soft and questioning *noise* — 

"Dreams of women who'd love me for the soldier I am — as opposed to the courtier I have to pretend to be when I'm actually *allowed* to meet women of the station my father secured for me. Dreams of women who'd allow me to raise children precisely like the three of *you* — as opposed to like *better* courtiers," Daddy says, and kisses Aramis's temple again. "Dreams of women who'd love the man who was never there, and who would somehow know to raise our children the way I wanted them to, even though they'd have next to no *active* guidance from me," Daddy says, and smiles wryly at *him*. "You boys are the only family I *could* ever have." 

Porthos winces. "I —" 

"I am not regretful in the least, son. I have been anything *but* cheated. Though, sooner or later," Daddy says, and drops his voice, "We're going to have to convince Athos to stop lurking in the hallway." 

Porthos stares at Daddy. 

Aramis blinks — 

"*One* moment," Porthos says, releasing Aramis's bollocks, standing, moving silently to the door, opening it *fast*, and *yanking* Athos in by the bloody kerchief. 

"*Porthos* —" 

"Don't start, mate," he says, and kicks the door shut. "What were you even *doing* out there?" 

"Seeing if I could decode the notes and letters —" 

"We have *Aramis* for that!" 

Athos cuts his eyes at Aramis who, admittedly, is rock-hard and naked and also bruised and also on Daddy's lap. 

And then Athos looks at him. 

Pointedly. 

"Look, he *was* coherent just a little bit ago —" 

The look gets pointier. 

"*We* wound him up!" 

Athos licks his lips. Slowly. 

He's got that 'I'm thinking about this deeply' face on. 

He's also got that 'I'm trying to find a way out of yelling at you' face on — 

And Daddy starts laughing, wry and rich and rough all at once. "Athos. Stop trying to apply logic." 

"Sir —" 

"Stop." 

"But —" 

"Take your clothes off, come here, and take what you *want*," Daddy says, and smiles *sharply*. 

Athos opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

"Sir, that doesn't seem to be... even setting aside logic, that course of action is neither ethical nor wise. As an example, we don't know anything about how the drug passes into a man's bodily systems —" 

"Athos," Daddy says, and — just that is enough to stop him. 

Impressive, that. 

Though it might be the fact that Aramis has his head up again — 

His bruised and pretty *face* up — 

"I — did you — have you *beaten* him?" 

"To a certain extent." 

Porthos snorts — and blocks the path the door, just in case. "He needs his discipline. Don't you, pet." 

"Yes, Master," Aramis says, and his eyes are — sharp. Hungry. 

He knows exactly what game they're all playing. 

And, in truth, so does *Athos*. 

He's just pretending he doesn't. 

Normally — in basically *any* other situation — Porthos would let it go, let *Athos* go, but... 

Not this time. 

"Mate." 

"Porthos. Porthos, I can't — this isn't *right*," Athos says, not looking away from Aramis's face. "I — I can *almost* see the sense in keeping Aramis from going *mad* with lust —" 

Porthos takes a step closer to Athos. 

Athos takes a *breath* —

"Athos. How many times were you going to let us get away with it? Mm?" 

"Get away with *what*?" But of course he's blushing. 

Of bloody course he is. Porthos doesn't know how much Athos had *overheard* *tonight* — 

But there were all those other nights. 

"You knew we wanted each other. You even knew about Aramis and the Captain. Didn't you." 

Athos's expression is calculating. It's not that Porthos — or either of the others — can *see* it — Athos is using every shadow in the room to *hide* it — 

But Porthos knows his closest friend. 

Knows him bloody *well* — 

"Stop figuring the *odds* and *talk* —"

"What we fantasize about in the depths of *drink* —" 

"There's *truth* in wine —" 

"That's a facetious lie told by old drunks to *excuse* their drinking —" 

"Right, because *you* only drink to *hide*. Right?" 

Athos — flinches. Right behind those pretty blue eyes. 

Porthos nods. "You don't have to hide from any of us. And — I'm sorry to make that a stab." 

Athos doesn't move for long moments — 

Doesn't even *breathe* — 

And then he looks at them, one by one by one. "If nothing else, one of us must stay... sober." 

"I believe the word you were looking for, son, is 'continent'." 

"I'll take it. And leave the three of you —" 

"Son."

Athos freezes again. "I don't. Please don't call me that." 

"Do you not want me to?" 

"That's not relevant —" 

"I believe it is —" 

"*Sir* — 

"*Son*," Daddy says, "even if Porthos and I are catastrophically wrong about this, even if Aramis is *not* getting better each time he spends, even if we have all doomed ourselves to a bare handful of days spent fucking in increasingly *depraved* ways until we're all *dead*... it would still be a *kinder* fate than the one you choose for yourself every time you *don't* have other men at your back to protect." 

And *that* — was another flinch. But — "Sir, I'm not —" 

"You will not lie to me, Athos. I didn't accept it when you were a boy in velvet slippers at your father's feet, and I will not accept it now." 

"When I'm nominally a man with a truly impressive amount of *buggery* in my future?" 

"Ah," Aramis says, "he pulls the sword of the offended moralist. You should not try to fence with that weapon, friend Athos. Not with an ex-seminarian." 

"You're a *heretic*." 

"Oh, yes," Aramis says, kneeling up and smiling. "This is so. I have read my bible from cover to cover. I have studied it in depth, and done so in multiple languages. I have quibbled over the translations with scholars in many lands. And this? Is *why* I am a heretic. Because the God I know and love with all my heart is not the God who would preach against *this*." 

Porthos blinks — "*Really*?" 

Daddy *coughs* — 

Athos *stares* — 

"Oh. Uh. Sorry. That was good stuff, you should carry on," Porthos says, and coughs into his hand.

"What you should *do*, son, is never let me catch you offering catechism to the scullery boys." 

"*Daddy*. I promise that the classes I give are entirely appropriate for their ages!" 

They all stare at Aramis. 

Just... for a while. 

Aramis clears his throat. "Well, I see that this is not reassuring. I will leave the topic alone and return to the one at hand. *Athos*. My Master, he was about to spank my balls most cruelly..." 

Athos grunts — 

"I truly was. There's also the matter of those last two smacks to the face you've earned." 

Athos frowns. "How is that *sexual*?" 

"There is nothing like it for putting me in my place, Athos. For showing me — with pure, rough, *personal* touches — where I belong and how I must *behave*. If my Master is willing to bruise me in this way... then my Master does not simply need me to be a pretty face. As opposed to a willing and easy and *open* pet in *all* ways. I am desired. I am needed. I am *owned*." 

And that — "Pet, I think we'd have to put a sack over your head to keep you from being pretty, but... that's about right. Mayhap someday we'll put another scar or two on those cheeks." 

And *Aramis* grunts, prick *spasming* — "Please. Please. I — need..." 

"A little too much for you, pet...?" 

"Yes, Master. I need — I need — please. I apologize!" 

"Shh, pet, you did *very* well. Didn't he, sir." 

Daddy licks his lips and cups Aramis's pectoral muscles. "Beautifully, as always. Didn't he, Athos." 

Athos pants — 

Licks his lips — 

"I don't. Want to be convinced." 

"Too bloody *bad*," Porthos says, untying Athos's kerchief and tossing it to Aramis. 

Aramis brings it to his face and breathes *deep* — 

And Athos makes a low, dirty, guttural sound and starts to strip.


End file.
